


The Tale of Time

by Dyllon_M



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Battle of Five Armies, Azog (Tolkien) - Freeform, Cultural Differences, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Dwarves in the Shire, Elves, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gandalf | Mithrandir - Freeform, Gold Sickness (Tolkien), Kíli (Tolkien) - Freeform, Kíli Lives, Legolas Greenleaf - Freeform, Major Character Injury, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Original Female Character, Protective Fíli, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Surface Dwarf Culture and Customs, fili - Freeform, kili - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 51
Words: 145,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dyllon_M/pseuds/Dyllon_M
Summary: Bilbo Baggins isn't the only unexpected member of Thorin Oakenshield's company. Another is recruited by the Grey Wizard who believes that she may hold the key to the company's success in their quest to reclaim the lost kingdom of Erebor. Along with thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and the occasional wizard, this strange figure will walk amongst them to the forgotten halls of the mighty dwarf mountain.
Relationships: Kíli (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Thorin Oakenshield & Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: The Hobbit Fanfics





	1. Chapter: Old Friends

Chapter 1: Old Friends

A young girl, or what would appear as a young girl to untrained eyes sits around a campfire, the orange licks of its flame the only thing besides the white moon and stars to grace her with any light. Her hands are held out in front of her, soaking up the warmth the flames have to offer her. Her cloak which is wrapped tightly around her shoulders provides little warmth against the cool air of the night.

Behind her is an old cottage style home. Its walls have broken down after many years of abandonment and weather, but it provided enough protection against the elements for the young – but not so young - girl. The only thing it could not provide that she needed is a fireplace, and not wanting to risk burning the entire structure down, she built it outside.

She hears him coming before she sees him, a gift from the elvish blood running through her veins, though one would not guess she is elven at first glance.

"I hope you are having a splendid night, Mithrandir," she greets out into the darkness of the night, not looking up from her small fire. The Grey wizard isn't surprised that the girl knew he is here.

"Did you see me coming?" he guesses, sitting down on the log with the girl, taking in the heat of the fire as well. His grey cloaks kept him warm, yes, but a fire provides a warmth belonging to the realm of comfort that clothes cannot offer, a fact well known by the girl.

"No, Mithrandir, I heard you. You are noisier than a herd of Rohan horses," she smirks, lifting her gaze from the fire. "But yes, I also saw you coming. What brings you to my humble, temporary abode?"

"Have you not seen that either?" he questions, peering at the girl curiously. She has always been a bit of a mystery to him, more so because she often surprised herself as well, leaving her actions unpredictable to everybody. She laughs, shaking her head.

"No, though I haven't been trying to." She tilts her head forward accusingly. "Why? What have you got planned under that over-sized hat of yours?" Her eyes pierce through to him, even in the darkness but they have no effect on the wizard, already knowing of her kind nature. She would not harm a fly if she had the choice.

"I have a proposition to make," he says, adjusting his hat self-consciously. The girl sits up straighter, taking a new interest in the wizard's visit. It isn't often that someone in Middle Earth is given a proposition by a wizard.

"A proposition?" she muses. "And please, do tell what it is about."

It isn't as though she has much to do with her life anyway except for survival and the occasional exploration. She always wonders what other people like to fill their time on Middle Earth on, if not just to see the unknown. Others probably have families and friends, she supposes. The girl does have her own friends but they are not the sort that you find yourself living near and going down to the markets together, more so the type of friends you cross paths with, share a drink and continue moving on.

Gandalf takes out his pipe, his lips curling around the thin long end.

"Have you met any dwarves before?" he asks. Her head tilts to the side, thinking that it is an odd answer to her question, but then again, it is not really an answer at all if it is another question, but she answers anyway.

"Of course, I have," she answers. "Stubborn things but brave of heart. I'll be right to assume that dwarves are involved in this plan of yours?"

She has come across their race plenty of times, usually working in forges or craft shops. She enjoys their company, but they did not always enjoy hers. They are intriguing characters, their blood rooted deep in a sense of loyalty to their own kin, one such loyalty that she has never experienced within her own.

Gandalf takes a long draw of his pipe, the smoke accumulating in his lungs as the girl watches him patiently for an answer. He breathes out, a small ring of smoke crafted by his mouth floating into the night air.

"You would be right," the wizard agrees. "In fact, a total of thirteen of them." His eyes flicker to the side to gauge the girl's reaction. She lets out a puff of air, stoking the fire with another large stick, making embers spark around.

"That is quite a number of dwarves," she notes, placing the stick back down. "So, your proposition. You would like me to meet with these dwarves then?"

Gandalf fiddles with his pipe. He had expected her to be fine with meeting the dwarves since the girl holds no hard feelings against them like the rest of her homeland kin, but his next words might change her attitude.

"Yes, I would like you to meet them," he says, fumbling around his next few words. "But also travel with them. On a quest."

"A quest?" she exclaims. A quest with thirteen dwarves is certainly not something to be taken lightly. "And what is this quest?"

"Thorin Oakenshield." Gandalf begins. The girl knows of the name but has not put many tales to it. "He is creating a company to reclaim Erebor. I think that he will be in need of your service."

While she has not put much tale to the name, she certainly knows of the tales concerning Erebor, the dwarf mountain that was lost to Smaug one hundred and seventy-one years ago. To reclaim Erebor is to go against a ruthless, gold-hungry dragon. Not to mention, while she does like dwarves, they don't always revel in her company. She has her ears to thank for that.

But what else is she doing besides sitting by her fire each night, sometimes moving, sometimes not? She has been in the same area for the past fifty or so odd years.

"Does Thorin Oakenshield know who I am?" she questions, giving the wizard a pointed look. "Has he even requested for me?"

Gandalf fumbles with his pipe again, incoherent words passing through his lips as he thinks of an answer that would be acceptable yet still the truth.

"He asked me to find the fourteenth member of his company and I have chosen you. But I have also chosen a fifteen if I do admit," he answers. The girl gives him a scornful look, but it drops with a slow sigh of thought. "They are meeting in Hobbiton in a month's time from today."

"Hobbiton?" she gapes. "That is an odd place for a dwarfish meeting."

"That is because the fifteenth member is a hobbit. He goes by the name Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf explains.

"A hobbit?" she gapes again. "You are sending a hobbit on a quest with dwarves? Gandalf, they barely even step foot out of their own villages let alone all of Hobbiton. Are you sure Thorin will accept both a hobbit and half-elf into his company?"

Gandalf tilts his head from shoulder to shoulder, avoiding the question.

"A month's time," he says again, standing up from the log. "Look for my mark and leave Thorin to me."

The girl reluctantly lets the wizard begin to leave but stands to bid him farewell, as it is polite.

"All right," she huffs. "I'll be there."

The wizard leaves just as he had come, but the girl now sits at her fire with a completely new set of thoughts running through her mind. Thirteen dwarves... and she had found three quite a bunch before. She isn't foolish when it comes to dwarfish thoughts on Elves, especially those belonging to the Durin line. And she doesn't blame them one bit.

But she has also faced the cruelty of Elves and there is hope that maybe they can share that common interest, especially considering she doesn't exactly look like an elf. If you are to look at her face alone then you would assume but once you add her hair and the rest of her body, you would question what race she is entirely.

She wasn't born like this, but the fate decided her course before she could understand much of the world. For years she heard the whisper of talk behind her back by the members of her kin, echoing down the hall until they reached her finely tuned ears.

It is no wonder that she prefers not to keep them company.

Her mind drifts to the hobbit Gandalf spoke about, Bilbo Baggins. She has travelled through the Shire once or twice before, purely out of curiosity than necessity. Although barely any of her travels are out of necessity anymore. Maybe a few times to the cities of men for items she cannot make or find herself but the wild is a generous place, if you know where to look.

Hobbiton is a very cottage-like place, one she adores. Sure, the people could be a little judgey but if you found the right people, their warmth and welcoming nature overrides anything else. She longs for a home that she could fit in with and Hobbiton is something that she would love to find that in but not being a...well, hobbit made her a little displaced among the rest.

The race of men is the closest to home she has found but their eyes still stay stuck on you like flies to honey even once they know you well enough. Maybe she will find that the dwarves are a better-suited bunch for her.

An audible snort leaves her throat at the thought. Dwarves would faint at the sight of an elf living amongst them, even a half-breed such as herself.

It would take maybe a week or so from where she is now to reach the Shire but not wanting to be late, the girl decides to leave a few days early and fill the rest of her stay in Bree. Yes, that seems quite the way to go.

Xx

Her few belongings are lugged on her back in an old brown bag. Thankfully, the bag is made by the elves and has withstood even the harshest conditions. In her bag, there are a few changes of clothes, tools to help make a camp such as a flint and anything else that would help her in her travels. She doesn't weigh herself down with trinkets of memories, there's not many that she would want to keep anyways. Her cloak is also rolled up in her bag since it is awkward to travel around in with the pack, but the days aren't as cool as the nights.

At her waist is twin short blades. Although she has elvish blood, weaponry isn't a skill she is fine-tuned at but anybody who wishes to survive outside their home should be willing to learn some sort of weapon. Twin blades are light to carry, don't require arrows to carry around like a bow and even when you lose one, the other is still there, making it a mighty fine choice in the half-breed's mind.

With her whole home resting on her back, she takes one last look at the rotting house, giving it a small wave of goodbye before turning on her feet, setting off in the direction of the Shire.

"Thirteen dwarves," she marvels to herself as she marches along the road. "I'm going to have to fight for a share of the food."

The only thing to fill her mind as she walks is how she imagines her meeting with the dwarves will play out. Maybe Gandalf will be there, warning them of her and they will have gotten their unpleasant words out before they can reach her ears. Or perhaps, she will be a surprise to them. At least she knows how to keep her mouth shut, the last thing anybody needs is for her tongue to snap back at them, only fuelling the hatred of the races.

And this poor hobbit is going to be in the middle, being a host to thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and an elf. The gossip in the Shire is going to be buzzing more than an angry swarm of bees!

Nevertheless, her feet keep marching all the way to Bree.

She considers Bree to be that place where travellers stop but nobody really looks at it and thinks 'This is a place to call home'. The road turns to mud in the rain and the tavern innkeeper at the Prancing Pony is anything but a joy to be around.

This is the only settlement where hobbits and Men gather in peace but still, the sight of a hobbit so far away from home is a scarcity.

Eyes peer at her as she walks through the tavern, the key to her room clutched tightly between her fingers. Maybe they are wondering if she is a hobbit. She certainly doesn't have the feet of one. Her feet are clad in normal travellers' boots, though, in a very small make.

Locking the door behind her, she settles down into her bed. The room in dingy, only one candle but it's left unlit as her eyes do to the job well enough for her. She would be able to spend the day in Bree tomorrow then leave the morning after.

Gandalf had been very mysterious in where and when she was to go in the Shire so leaving in the morning would give her a day to figure it out at least. It's a wonder if the wizard has given the hobbit a more in-depth explanation to Bilbo Baggins than he has to her.


	2. Chapter 2: The Shire

Chapter 2: The Shire

The Shire looks no different to the last time she travelled through to Hobbiton, maybe eighty years or so ago. Nothing has seemed to change, just as expected. A haven cornered off from the rest of the races and barbaric tendencies of those races.

The fertile fields are saturated green, which rolls in small hills until they reach near the road where they suddenly rise up more, round doors leading to their homes inside. Almost every single house has a garden of a sort, filled with a plethora of flowers, fruits, and vegetables.

Child hobbits run on the road in front of her, a large smile gracing her lips as she watches them. Being not much taller than the hobbits, she passes through them without many curious gazes.

Her smile drops for a moment, her feet pulling to a stop along the road. Eyes glaze over as the flicker, images appearing before her. A door, a very specific door with Mithrandir's symbol glowing softly on it. The door opens, though nobody is behind it, leading to a well-decorated home, everything put neatly in place.

The half-breed's eyes close over for a moment, opening again back in focus. She forces her feet to move again so as not to look odd standing in the middle of the road. The door belonging to Bilbo Baggins has been shown to her, giving her at least a general idea that they would indeed be meeting at the hobbit's home.

The girl continues walking through the Shire, smiling softly at the hobbit's who meet her gaze, but her focus is put on the round doors of each home she passes. They almost all look the same, except for the colour which differs in shade between each one.

She can definitely see herself living here if the chance ever presents itself to her. A quiet place, yet not so quiet that she is all alone. Just alone from the outside world.

The half-elf is pulled from her daydream as a cart being pulled by a pony is driven right in front of her, blocking her path. A small yelp of surprise escapes her lips, the wood of the cart barely missing her chest and she jumps back in fright of her feet getting run over.

She watches the cart go on; a bit grumpy that she was almost run over but it proves to be more of a blessing as the cart rides past the entrance to a hobbit hole. The same one that she saw before. Beaming once more her path changes up to the home.

It is surrounded by a short fence, but the gate is unlocked so she lets herself through. There is a small bench at the end of a stone path. The path leads up a small incline, all the way to the green door. On it the symbol of Mithrandir.

Her hand raises in a knock, but it halts near her head. There isn't much sound coming from inside. She turns her ear towards the door, listening intently. She cannot even hear the soft pad of movement that belongs to a hobbit. Very light on their feet, but not immune to the elfish ear.

Sudden insecurity sweeps over her.

"I don't want to be the first," she mutters to herself, staring at the symbol. There is no doubt that this is the place, but what would she even say? She doesn't know much herself. "Hello, Bilbo, are there any other dwarves here?" she rambles to herself, letting her hand drop. "No." Her eyes widen in the prediction of embarrassment. She will wait for some dwarves to arrive first. No doubt they will arrive around a mealtime. A dwarfish meeting isn't a dwarfish meeting without a feast. Considering lunch has already passed and if you don't count the hobbit meals, dinner would be the next best guess.

Stepping back, her head tilts up to the sky. The sun is on the second half of its journey, but still a few hours away from setting. At least she will get to explore the Shire more, without the worry of finding her way here.

Hobbling back down the steps, she steps back onto the road, looking both ways. Turning left, the way she was originally travelling, her feet take her all the way into the middle of Hobbiton – the centre of the centre!

The market space thrives, and the half-elf is glad that her height puts her just above that of the hobbits, allowing her to see both where she is going and the sights around her. Like her previous visit, a few more odd stares are thrown her way, her feet clad in boots and different garbs separating her from the rest of the Shire-folk but her care could not be less as most went about their day, completely ignoring her. Maybe if she was taller more attention will have been brought onto her.

A small breath of laughter puffs from her nose. A small prize in her curse.

"Excuse me miss." A soft hand tugs at her pant leg. A young hobbit child stares up at the strange maiden with large, curious eyes. The maiden raises her eyebrows at the child's boldness.

"Yes, young master?" she greets, eager to know what has this boy so interested in her attention.

"What are you?" the boy asks, his gaze not faltering. The half-breed tilts her head in mild shock. The question is a little rude, not something you should just ask a stranger, but he is a child and she remembers the days she was of the same maturity. She kneels down, brushing away her brown hair to reveal her mildly pointed ears.

"I'm an elf," she says to the boy. His eyes widen – if that is even possible – as he looks at the ear. It is the size of a regular ear, for the race of Men, but the tip curls inwards, creating a slight point.

The boy's eyes narrow though once he looks back over the girl. "I thought Elves were tall?" This boy just doesn't have any sense of social skills, does he? No matter.

"Most are," she agrees, pulling the hair back into its usual place. "But not all Elves are like me." She does not wish to go into the detail of her bloodline, nor the other things impacting her appearance to both a stranger and a child. He does not need to hear to horrors.

The boy stares at her in wonder for a little bit before scattering away to his mother's call. The half-elf stands back up, readjusting her falling pack. She watches the boy run away, his large bare feet slapping against the stone road on his way.

That is the childhood version of the curious hobbits that travel to Bree.

Xx

The time passes over with relative ease as there is enough sites and new markets stalls to see but once the sun begins to hide under the earth, the hobbits start flooding back to their homes for their evening meals. It is probably time to go meet Bilbo Baggins, and hope that she is neither too later nor too early for the meeting.

Though if someone says something, she can also use Gandalf's excuse.

The hole belonging the Bilbo Baggins is a little bit away, measurable by a peaceful walk. Not too far away that it becomes a nuisance but long enough to be able to enjoy it. The Shire is just alive during the night as it is the day, though the liveliness moves from the town to their homes.

The Elf girl peeks in through their windows as she passes, catching glimpses of their lives. What different stories can they tell and how different are they to her own? She will never know.

The hole of Bilbo Baggins comes into view, but she halts at the odd sight at the hobbit's front door. Around eighter or so short but stumpy figures stand outside his door, accompanied by a taller man. The taller man's silhouette gives him away before his face does which she can make out even in the darkness.

The dwarves pile in, leaning on the door, knocking loudly. Her gaze drifts over to a window where the light flickers on and off as though someone is constantly walking in front of its source. The round door opens, and the dwarves fall on top of one another.

This is her first glance at the hobbit. He looks utterly exhausted.

Gandalf leans down as the dwarves file in through the door around Bilbo Baggins who just stands there, taking in the situation. It seems that Gandalf has not given the poor man a better explanation then he did for her. Perhaps an even vaguer one! The girl almost feels bad for being the next person to knock at his door but at least she is alone.

There's no time to lose, she thinks to herself. Her feet move forward as she walks up the same steps she had earlier that day, only this time, her knuckles reach the wood. She knocks loudly, not to be impolite, but to be heard over the ruckus inside.

"No, no, no!" she hears from inside, the voice getting closer as it comes to the door. "This is enough-...oh."

The hobbit looks at the girl with shock for he is not what he is expecting at all, but tonight should have proved to be beyond his expectations already. The girl is quaint looking with a pointed face, framed by wavy dark hair. She is only a little taller than the hobbit himself, but her feet are clad in boots, so she is certainly not a hobbit.

"Good evening Bilbo Baggins." She smiles in greetings, nodding her head slightly.

"You're not a dwarf," is all the hobbit can manage out, but he blushes immediately at the rudeness of it. He's not even surprised at this point that she knows his name.

The girl looks down at herself, her smile still there to his relief. "Indeed not, Bilbo Baggins." She leans to the side slightly looking over the hobbit's shoulder, seeing the movement of dwarves behind him.

The hobbit has reddish curly hair and on the younger side of hobbit's aging.

"Just Bilbo, please," the hobbit says, offering her much more politeness than he has the dwarves. The girl nods once, testing the name on her lips.

"Bilbo it is then. I'm Gailien." Her gaze flickers once again over his shoulder, catching sight of the grey robes. "I hope I'm not putting too much of an intrusion on you, but I was invited by Gandalf. I'm afraid though that he has neglected to tell you of this invitation. I do apologise on both our behalves'."

Bilbo sighs, waving a hand in front of his face. He doesn't have much a choice now, does he? At least this girl has the common sense to both apologise and wait to be invited inside. Which he should probably do now.

"No, it's fine," he says with a forced smile. "Come in, the dwarves have raided my pantry so help yourself."

Gailien walks over the threshold and Bilbo closes the door behind her. His eyes drift down to her leg, watching as she seems to favour one over the other, creating a noticeable limp as she walks. Breaking from his stare he walks off, muttering under his breath.

Gailien doesn't bother to try and listen to his words as her mind focuses on the horde of dwarves in a few rooms over. How will they take her presence? At least Gandalf is here.

With immaculate timing, the wizard appears in the front corridor, carrying a tiny glass in his hands which is empty, except for the small remnants of wine at its bottom. His gives the girl a toothy smile.

"Ah, Gailien. There you are." He walks over, being very careful to duck under a large light. "Almost the entire company is here."

"Almost?" she asks incredulously. "How many more are we waiting on?"

"Just Thorin," Gandalf answers lightly. "Shall I introduce you to them?"

Well, there is no backing out now. "Lead the way."


	3. Chapter 3: A Loud Bunch

Chapter 3: A Loud Bunch

The dwarves sit, talking merrily amongst themselves as Bilbo's entire pantry is laid out on the table, filling the bellies of his uninvited guests. Bilbo stands at the end of the table, sighing as his entire stock is being thrown about carelessly. Utensils do not seem to be a common tool amongst them as they use their hands with no regard for the hygiene of them. Fili, the dwarf prince, holds numerous tankards of ale in his hands, walking along the table.

"Who wants an ale? There you go."

"Let me have another drink."

"Here you go," Balin says, pouring the drink down the dwarf's hearing instrument. Balin laughs at Oin's confusion

Soon, everybody has an ale in their hand and a dwarf with a curved hat stands, holds his drink high to address the entire group.

"Hey, on the count of three," Bofur says. "One! Two! Come!"

Bilbo's home falls silent as the tankards are raised to their mouths, though the ale doesn't all make it through them. They don't seem to care as half of the drink pours down their beards and faces, dripping down onto their clothes and floor.

Gailien and Gandalf choose this moment to enter and the girl watches them in wonder and amazement. They don't seem to need to breathe!

One by one they drop their tankards down which are now empty and in need of refilling. Dori belches but it is pathetic by dwarven standards. Ori, a young-looking dwarf who also seems to wear the least amount of clothes stands up proud and tall, belching loud and long. The dwarves cheer.

"Gandalf." Dwalin, a fierce-eyed dwarf notices the new company. "Who is this?"

The rest of the company, minus Bilbo fall back into a quiet murmur and whispers spread amongst themselves. Gailien ignores the sounds, too familiar with it but at least they don't seem to be in hate. Stranger's whispers she can deal with, it's those of people she calls friend she despises.

Gandalf straightens, placing a hand on the girl's back as she looks over the company. They all seem to be in very thick clothing, or perhaps that is just because of their build. A mix of ages, with the two brothers looking around the youngest. Some peer at her with disdain, taking note of her elf-like features. But others like the white-haired one watch her with wide eyes, curious more than appalled at her appearance.

"This is Gailien," Gandalf introduces. "She is the fifteenth member of the company and she will be your guide."

"Guide?" Dwalin spits. "We don't need a guide, Gandalf. We know the path well enough." A few dwarves roar in agreement. Gailien fiddles with her hands behind her back, letting Gandalf do the talking for now.

"What even is she?" Another dwarf calls out. "She looks like another hobbit. Probably never even left the Shire."

"Gailien is not that type of guide." Gandalf looks down at the girl who is still standing their quietly, a small smile on her lips. "She is a Seer."

"What's a Seer?!" exclaims the larger one at the head of the table. His orange beard is plaited, creating a large loop. Gailien finals speaks.

"It is another word for Prophet, master dwarf," she responds, her voice loud, ringing over the others. "I see glimpses into the future, both near and far."

"Yes," Gandalf agrees, proud of the girl for not faltering under their stares. "I think her talents will prove useful in avoiding some troubles that we may run into."

Both Gailien and Gandalf hold their tongues on the fact that Gailien is not yet adept at the skill. Visions often only came in a very trance-like state of meditation or on the opposite end of the spectrum when she is least expecting them. But, nevertheless, having her accompany them will provide more benefits than hindrances, in Gandalf's opinion.

"What does Thorin think of this?" Dwalin, who remains most unsure about this new arrival asks. His eyes are narrow, pointed at both the girl and the wizard.

"Thorin is aware of a fifteenth member and their purpose," Gandalf answers. "He has agreed."

The knowledge that their leader is aware seems to settle them down and they begin digging into their food again.

A dwarf with long brown hair and beard still peers at her. "You never told us what you are lass?" His eyes flicker to her shoed feet. "You're not a hobbit, but you are certainly not a dwarf."

Gailien sucks on her lips slightly, knowing her heritage would have come up at one point or another. Dwarves are very secretive about their own culture (mostly their tongue) and while they welcome the company of hobbits (who's home they often came through when travelling), their wariness stays strong.

"I am half-elf, master dwarf but-" her voice is cut off by Dori who stands abruptly, his chair skidding across the floor. Bilbo winces as the image of scratches flashes in his mind.

"An elf?" he cries. "We will not have an elf in our company!" His rage ensnares the reactions of the other dwarves, a mix of cry and outrage minus a few who don't voice their opinions loudly.

"She's probably here to tell her kin about her plans!"

"Slimy pointy-eared wench!"

Wench? Well, that is certainly a little insulting. Her eyes grow wide as the dwarves shout amongst themselves, throwing insults and thoughts freely in front of her. At least they have the balls to say it all to her face, she thinks. Gandalf tries to gain their attention back, but his words fall short on their ears.

"Enough!" Gailien shouts sternly. The dwarves halt, turning their glares towards her. "Yes, that is my bloodline." She looks them all in the eye one by one to make sure they know she is addressing each and every one of them. "But they are no more my kin than they are yours. I have no relations with them. I hold no hate for dwarves in my heart and I would appreciate it if you could separate me from what you think about the rest of my race."

Gandalf raises his brows for a quick moment, seeing how silent the dwarves have become at her words. "Gailien has not belonged to any elvish province since her childhood and holds no loyalties to them."

Gailien nods once, smiling slightly as the older white-haired dwarf she saw before is also smiling at her. "I have met many dwarves before, and it has been an honour. Besides, I'm only half-elf, half-man."

"Why are you so short?" The question comes from one of the younger dwarves with dark almost black hair, barely wielding any stubble on his face. The words are not accusatory, nor rude but are filled with bemusement.

"That is a tale for another day, but I wasn't born this way if that it was you were asking, master dwarf," she responds kindly. It would do her no good to speak harshly to any of them right now.

"Kili," he says, announcing his name.

"Kili," she repeats, nodding in slight greeting. "Do not judge me for my ears when I do not judge you for your beards."

A quiet murmur spreads once again through the group but Dwalin speaks up again.

"Thorin is our leader," he tells the group. "He will decide what happens."

The dwarves agree on his words. Gailien isn't sure if she likes Dwalin just yet as he seems set in his thoughts about her already, but he also recognises his place. He may be stubborn, but he also seems older, more experienced than most of the other dwarves. And she does like the white-haired one. Kili is also another she would like to get to know better.

The main feast is over, but they remain no less lively as the spread out amongst Bilbo's home. Gailien watches them with intrigue. Her thoughts wander to Thorin, knowing that she will have to explain herself to him as well but Thorin has more than enough reason to hate elves.

She watches as Bilbo makes himself busy but putting things away, wandering through the dwarves as they move around his things.

"Excuse me miss, I thought you might be hungry."

One of the younger dwarves holds out a plate with some cheese and meat on it. He smiles kindly at her and Gailien would feel horrible for refusing.

"Thank you." She takes the plate from his hands, picking up a small piece of cheese to nibble on. "What is your name?"

"Ori, miss." Unlike most of the other dwarves, he seems to be clad only in a shirt or two with a sweater type vest on top of it. His stature and manners show that he clearly isn't a warrior.

"Ori, it's a pleasure to meet you. Please, call me Gailien."

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Gailien. If you don't mind me asking, I've never met a Seer before but how did you become one?"

Gailien leans against the wall, still nibbling on the platter. Honestly, it is a shock none of the dwarves has walked past and taken some food off it themselves.

"I was born with it," she answers. "There are very few, maybe four ever named in history since the first age. It is a gift."

"So, you can see danger coming before it's near?" The voice belongs to a new dwarf who leans along the opposite wall. He is the one with the pointed hat. Gailien nods.

"That's the idea, though it doesn't have to be a danger. I won't be able to always prevent it since I don't get the full pictures but often enough, I can put it together myself."

Ori and the other dwarf listen with open ears. Of course, they have been bred to have a great hate for anything elvish, just the same as the other dwarves in Middle Earth but there is something about her that just doesn't fit into the stereotypes they have had planted in their minds. Maybe it was because of the way she looked, or perhaps talks. She has also not shown any signs of disdain against their own race which they had expected.

The conversation turns and twists as she asks them about their lives. Bofur and his cousin Bifur dabble in toymaking, but his family are miners. He, his brother (Bombour), and Bifur are not Durin's folk but when adventured called, they rose to the call.

She shares parts of her own story, mainly of how she knows Mithrandir and he asked her to accompany them. She also shared a few stories of her travels in the past few years.

"Oh." She looks down at her empty plate. "What should I do with this?"

The table where they have been feasting is already filled with dirty plates, bowls, and eating utensils (which they finally started using) and Gailien doesn't want to just add to the mess already there.

"I'll go ask Bilbo," Ori says, taking the empty plate. Bofur wanders off back into the dining room as she follows Ori.

Bilbo is crying to Gandalf about the state of his house. "I don't want to get used to them. Look at the state of my kitchen! There's mud trod in the carpet, they...they've pillaged the pantry! I'm not even gonna tell you what they've done in the bathroom, they've all but destroyed the plumbing!" Gailien makes a mental note to hold her bladder is she can. "I don't understand what they're doing in my house!"

The girl does already feel sorry for the hobbit but there isn't much she can do. Her and Ori step forward, the young dwarf holding out the empty plate.

"Excuse, me, I'm sorry to interrupt. But what should I do with my plate?"

The dwarf is more polite than most elves she has met. If Gailien ever meets his mother, she is sure to thank her for teaching to boy manners.

One of the other younger dwarves appears from behind her. She believes he is Kili's brother, but his name escapes her. They look very much alike, despite the difference in hair colour.

"Here you go, Ori, give it to me," he says. Ori hands the plate over to the smiling blond dwarf who throws it behind him. Her eyes watch the plate sail through the air, almost preparing to wince when the ceramic shatters on the ground but it is caught mid-flight but Kili. Kili then throws his through to another room and there isn't the sound of crashing, so it is safe to assume someone else caught it.

More and more plates fly through the air, half or so of the dwarves in the line up of the plate's courses. Bilbo watches with eyes wide in horror but Gailien's are wide in amazement. She follows Kili's brother through to the other room where more plates are. She doesn't dare try and help out, and the fear of broken plates doesn't leaver her mind.

"Excuse me!" Bilbo exclaims, running after one of the dwarves. "That's my mother's Westfarthing pottery, it's over a hundred years old!" The dwarves, and admittedly Gailien take little notice in his words. The dwarves sitting at the table start rhythmically banging knives and forks against the table. "And...and, ca...can you not do that, you'll blunt the knives!"

Bofur smiles broadly, looking around at his fellow kin. "Ooh, d'hear that, lads? He says we'll blunt the knives!"

The music picks up, even more, all the dwarves following the atmosphere of the evening merrily. Kili, who is still catching plates being thrown at him by his brother, pokes his head around the corner.

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks," he sings.

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks." This time, his brother sings in the same tune.

Gailien has to duck as a plate nearly runs straight through her head.

"Sorry lass," Kili's brother smirks.

Chipe the glasses and crack the plates.

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!

Cut the cloth and tread on the fat,

Leave the bones on the bedroom-mat,

Pour the milk on the pantry-floor,

Splash the wine of every door,

Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl,

Pound them up with a thumping pole.

When you've finished, if any are whole,

Send them down the hall to roll.

Gandalf and Gailien stand together laughing at the song and sight. Bilbo though has never looked more stressed. He looks as though he is about to pass out any second. Bofur has brought out his flute as well, adding another musical element to the tune.

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" They all finish.

All the plates have been piled up in the kitchen, the dwarves standing proudly around them as Bilbo enters, pushing through Kili's brother and Ori who now have tankards in their hands, expecting a large mess than would be easier to burn than clean up. But no, they are all neatly stacked, and the scraps have even been cleaned off.

They laugh at the hobbit's expression of disbelief as Gandalf gestures at them in laughter.

"That was quite a performance," she muses to Kili's brother. He laughs loudly, taking another sip of his ale.

"That was nothing compared to normal," he remarks, eyeing the girl off curiously. He has never seen someone like her before and he's not sure what to make of it. She's been nice enough so far, nothing like the tales of elves he's heard. And his brother spoke well of her, though he only spoke to her for less than a minute, and his brother doesn't always make the wisest decisions. "I'm Fili, by the way."

Gailien smiles, glad to put a name to the face. At least most of the names have similarities with another one or two. It will be easier to have a rhythm in her head to remember them all by.

"Gailien," she grins.

A knock at the door brings the entirety of Bag End to an eerie silence. Gailien realises that this must be the arrival of their final member, Thorin Oakenshield.

"He's here," Gandalf announces, though he doesn't need to raise his voice for everybody to here. In fact, he probably didn't even need to announce it as everybody heard it. Their silence worries Gailien, fearing that if the rowdy group of dwarves can fall silent at his presence, then Thorin must be something to fear...or respect.


	4. Chapter 4: The Plan

Chapter 4: The Plan

Gailien follows the dwarves as they all start huddling around the entrance room, leaning in through the archways. A few dwarves step forward such as Dwalin and Kili into the main room but Gailien sticks back, just out of sight with Balin, the white-haired dwarf beside her.

Gandalf is the one to open the door as even Bilbo senses the tension as the elf girl does. A figure stands just outside, a dwarf with long dark hair, almost the same as Kili's but with greater length and a much longer beard. He is donned in a brown cloak, hiding whatever he wears underneath.

"Gandalf," he greets, smiling ever so slightly at the wizard that Gailien is sure is was invisible to the eyes of others. Thorin steps over the threshold as the company still remains silent. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I wouldn't have found it at all, had it not been for that mark on the door."

Gailien is almost comforted by the way he talks. The confidence seeps through him and his words are smooth. Bilbo is not so caught up by the fact that a King has just entered his home.

"Mark?" He exclaims. "There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!" He walks forward to stand between Thorin and Gandalf as the wizard shuts the door. Thorin removes his cloak, revealing the heavily fur-lined garments underneath. He smiles as someone to his left and Gailien follows his line of sight to Kili.

"There is a mark," Gandalf tells the hobbit. "I've put it there myself." Thorin turns back around as he becomes aware of the unknown hobbit. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Bilbo steps forth out of politeness, which is a surprise to anybody that he has any left. Thorin looks down at the hobbit, scrutinising him. "So, this is the hobbit. Tell me, My Baggins, have you done much fighting?" He begins circling the hobbit as he speaks and Gailien begins to doubt her first impression of the man. If he acts this way around a hobbit, who he has known as being a hobbit, how will he react to her?

Bilbo stutters, not expecting such an interrogation in his own home. "Pardon me?"

"Axe or sword?" Thorin questions.

Bilbo regains a little sense of confidence, using humour to lighten the conversation.

"Well, I do have some skills at conkers, if you must know." Gailien struggles to hold back a smile at the hobbit's words. "But I fail to see why that's relevant." Some of the other dwarves share the same expression as her.

"Thought as much," Thorin replies, glancing slightly over his shoulder at his company. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

The company laughs but Gailien doesn't at this remark. Sure, she does fully agree with the statement, but she will not laugh at her host. At least, not in this sense.

Gandalf scans the crowd, shifting his gaze over the dwarves until it lands of Gailien.

"Ah, Thorin." The dwarf stops in his tracks, perking an eyebrow at the wizard. "I do believe I have one more member of the company to introduce to you." Gailien realises this is her moment to step forward, brushing shoulders against the dwarves. Some are taller than her by a few inches, and others are around her own height. She finally comes out from behind them, making her presence known. Thorin turns around, giving her the same scrutinising look as he did for Bilbo. "This is Gailien, she will act as our Seer."

"Thorin Oakenshield," the girl greets, asserting her confidence before the King can have a chance to ruin it. "It is an honour to meet you and your company." She bows her head slightly as Thorin continues to peer at her with blazing eyes.

"Gandalf did tell me about you, but he did not say it was a woman, nor another hobbit," he says, giving Gandalf an accusing look. Gailien holds back a roll of her eyes – she does not want to lose her head today. And her earlier assumption was right, he has a few inches on her own height.

"Forgive me, Sire, but I am not a hobbit. I am half-elf, half-man. I ask that you don't judge me on my race or my gender but what I have to offer." She holds her ground, keeping her chin high. The other dwarves are not surprised at her words, already having experienced them themselves. Thorin doesn't act shocked by her words but his eyes narrow at the revelation of her race.

"I will not have an elf on my quest," he spits, tilting his head back to Gandalf, not yet speaking to her directly. Gandalf sighs, knowing that this was coming.

"Gailien has no loyalties to any elvish establishment and has not lived with them for hundreds of years. You would do well to accept her here, Thorin." Gandalf's words are not ones to argue with and everybody can see the irritation on the King's face. Gailien steps forward again.

"I have already spoken to the others, but the elves are as much of my kin as they are yours. I have nothing for respect for dwarves, the hardiest race of Middle Earth, and it would be an honour to accompany you all."

Thorin lifts his chin even further. "Can you fight?" In response, Gailien's hands rest on the short swords on either side of her waist, lifting the blades partially out of their sheaths. Thorin eyes them, not giving away any emotion. "Can you use them?"

"I've had 460 years to practice," Gailien says, a slight smirk playing at her lips. "I'm good enough."

Thorin steps forward, putting very little space between the two, but neither backs down. "If you prove to have your loyalties to lie anywhere else but the company, I will not hesitate to kill you."

Gailien's breath catches in her throat at the threat, feeling the sincerity of it but her face holds stoic. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Satisfied, Thorin steps back. Of course, he is nothing less than seething at the idea of an elf joining on this quest, but he trusts Gandalf. Gandalf had been the one to approach him the one evening in Bree with the proposition of the quest in the first place so he doubts that the wizard would knowingly bring a traitor into the company.

That, and she is nothing like the other elves he knows. Her hair isn't sleek and straight, or even that long. It's wavy with a few ringlets and it has no braids in it, probably from the blood of Men in her veins. Her height is another thing playing at his mind, but he dismisses it as he walks past her.

Gailien's words spoke nothing but the truth, and she hopes that the King and his company can come to see that. Her loyalties lie with Gandalf, and the company are an extension of that loyalty. Though she had not been there at the time, the tale of Erebor's fall is a hard one to hear, even more so when she knows of her homeland's refusal to offer aid. The dwarves deserve their kingdom back, and after meeting them, her opinion has only solidified.

The dwarves move away, following Thorin through a room to the left of the door. Kili pats her back roughly as he passes her. "I think he likes you," he says to the girl, laughing. Gailien offers a sarcastic smile, her eyes narrowing as her cheeks lift.

"Yes, I think I'm his favourite," she retorts, falling into step with him.

"Nah, that's gotta be me," he counters. "I am his nephew after all."

Gailien's eyebrow raises, now seeing the actions of Thorin's smile clearer. "So that would make you a prince, does it not?" Kili nods proudly, his heritage something he always takes pride in.

"Yes, but Fili is older so he's first in line to the throne." He doesn't seem upset at that fact which Gailien smiles at, knowing that the brothers are close, and it shows a little more about Kili's character. Gailien confirms her decision to get to know the dwarf better. His brother seems nice enough too.

The company fills into the dining room. The mood has shifted now that their bellies are full and their leader present, but it doesn't mean they are any less dwarfish in character. Gailien stands behind a few of the doors, leaning against the wall as someone lays food in front of Thorin who has also shed of his fur jacket.

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?" Balin asks. "Did they all come?"

"Aye," Thorin answers, "envoys from all seven kingdoms."

The seven kingdoms must be referring to the seven bloodlines of the dwarves, Gailien thinks to herself. The dwarves quietly cheer amongst themselves but Gailien keeps quiet, not knowing the significance of the statement. Dwalin isn't as eager to cheer as the others.

"What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" he asks. "Is Dain with us?"

Thorin sighs, eyeing his food before looking back up at his kin. "They will not come." The dwarves become visibly upset by the knowledge, low groans filling the small room. "They say this quest is ours, and ours alone."

Bilbo who is standing on the other side of the room to Gailien catches onto the words. "You're doing a quest?"

What did the poor hobbit think was happening? A random jolly meeting in the middle of the Shire for funsies?

"Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light." Bilbo leaves the room in search of a candle or something and Gandalf pulls out a parchment from his cloak, placing it out on the table, unrolled for everybody to see. "Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak." Bilbo arrives back with the candle, leaning over the table as the map is lightened.

"The Lonely Mountain," he reads aloud.

Gailien moves silently around the room, standing on the opposite side of Thorin, looking over his shoulder to gaze upon the map herself. There are notes on it and a few places of interest jotted down but the one mountain peak at the top left is the main point of the map. There is a dragon illustrated, flying around it to symbolise Smaug.

"Aye, Oin has read the portents, and the portents say: it is time," Gloin announces to the group. Gandalf lights his pipe with flames from his fingers. Gailien eyes the wizard, slightly jealous that he can conjure heat without effort. She hates the cold.

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold," Oin adds to Gloin. "When the birds of the old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

Gailien holds back a huff. So, they are basing this quest on the foretelling of ravens flying. Though, she supposes that she is definitely not one to talk considering her life is full of foretelling.

Bilbo who is still oblivious to many things outside the Shire latches onto one word of Oin's statement. "Uh...what beast?"

Bofur, who is almost smoking from a pipe sits back in his chair. "Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age." The dwarves quieten, listening to his tales as Bilbo becomes increasingly unsettled. "Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals."

Gailien nods her head slightly at the description, having heard her own tales about the dragon Smaug, not to mention the other legends.

"Yes, I know what a dragon is," Bilbo cuts in hastily, not wanting to continue hearing about the creature that is being conjured in his mind. Ori rises to his feet, surprising Gailien who's head snaps to him.

"I'm not afraid, I'm up for it," he exclaims, not a quiver of fear ringing in his voice. "I'll give him a taste of the dwarfish iron right up his jacksy!" Gailien beams at his declaration, loving the dwarfish spirit of the boy. It's why she enjoys the company of most dwarves.

"Sit down!" Dori grumbles, pulling the dwarf down.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest," Balin says. Grumbles and groans rise again at Balin insult.

"Hey! Who are you calling dim?" Ori calls out. The dwarves argue amongst themselves louder and Gailien begins to wonder whether Thorin will ever be able to control them. A fist slams on the table, belonging to the blonde dwarf prince.

"We may be few in number," he says and the table silences, listening to his words. "But we're fighters, all of us! To the last dwarf!" His fist bangs against the table again, finalising his statement. Spoken like a true dwarfish prince, she muses silently.

"And you forget we have a wizard in our company," Kili adds from next to him before anybody can speak. "Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time."

The dwarves start the mumbling again as Gandalf holds up a hand, stammering over his words. Gailien looks at the wizard in anticipation.

"Oh, well. No, uh, I...I wouldn't say..."

"How many then?" Dori asks.

"What?"

"I believe he's asking how many dragons you've killed, Gandalf," the girl speaks up after her reign of silence. Gandalf mumbles a little more, choking on the smoke of his pipe as his lips stay sealed. The dwarves realise the answer themselves and their voices begin to overlap as an argument breaks out amongst them again.

Gailien stands back as they rise from their seats but her eye catches the two princes' who give her exasperated looks as if telling her this is a common thing. Gailien doesn't doubt it but her eyes remain wide, not sure where to look or listen to, but she smiles coyly at them.

"Uh...please. Please," Bilbo starts but she is sure she only hears if because of her elvish ears, even if they aren't as good as normal elves.

Thorin rises from his chair. "Enough!" he cries out, his voice powering over every single living thing in this room. All eyes turn to him. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look East to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"

The words go through Gailien as if she is one of the dwarves, feeling the pride and enthusiasm run through her body like it is anticipating a battle. Her feet shuffle in an attempt to let out some of the energy building up in her as the other dwarves cheer loudly at their King's speech. They stand, rallying as Thorin speaks to them in dwarfish, an unknown tongue to Gailien.

Bilbo watches on, not sure what to think and Gandalf sits back, letting Thorin take the lead. Thorin sits back down, having gained the courage of his company back. However, acting as the voice of reason, Balin speaks up.

"You forget the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain."

"That, my dear, Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf responds. Appearing out of seemingly nowhere, a large key appears in his hand. Heavy and silver, the metal is moulded beautifully in a dwarfish style. The company looks at it in curiosity, as well as Bilbo and Gailien.

"How came you by this?" Thorin questions with a raspy voice, enchanted by the key.

"It was given to me by your father by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is now yours." Thorin takes the key, holding it up to inspect it himself. The company almost seem to lean forward to get a closer glance themselves and Bilbo stares at it with wonder from behind Thorin. The hobbit can lie all he wants, but the events of tonight are becoming more intriguing every moment that passes.

"If there is a key, there must be a door!" Fili assesses with excitement. Gailien holds a snort.

"No, it's for decoration," she mutters, nobody hearing her but herself.

Gandalf pulls the map out further, pointing at the runes on the left border of the map. Gailien frowns, trying to read them but she doesn't know the language in which they are even written to try and begin translating them.

"The runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower half," Gandalf says.

Kili pats his brother on the back, an excited smile on his lips. "There's another way in," he notes.

"Well, if we can find it, but the dwarf doors are invisible when closed." He sighs, dropping his shoulders. "The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map, and I do not have the skill to find it, but there are others in Middle Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage." His gaze turns to Bilbo who eyes Gandalf back. "But if we're careful and clever, I believe that it can be done, especially with Gailien's help." The eyes of the company fall onto the small woman who nods as though once again, affirming her presence and offer of help.

"That's why we need a burglar," Ori realises and their gazes shift from her to the hobbit who has his arms crossed, still oblivious to his part to play.

"Hmm. And a good one too. An expert I'd imagine," he notes, looking down at the map. His thumbs hook around his suspenders.

"And are you?" Gloin asks. The company's eyes are still on Bilbo who takes a moment to register that the dwarf's question is aimed at him. He even checks over his shoulder for anybody else he may be talking to.

"Am I what?"

Oin who is holding his hearing device up, completely miss hears Bilbo's words. "He said he's an expert!" he cheers. Bilbo finally realises the insinuation and topic of conversation.

"Me? No! No, no, no!" he denies quickly. "I...I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life."

"And I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr Baggins. He's hardly burglar material," Balin says, glancing at the burglar. Gailien agrees with both the hobbit and Balin, eyeing the hobbit with a frown. She begins to doubt Gandalf's assessment of the hobbit, but every now and then, Bilbo does show a spark of adventure which could be nurtured until it becomes a full fire inside of him. Getting him out the door is going to be the hard part.

"Aye, the wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," Dwalin adds. Gailien decides to like this particular dwarf. He may be rough, and a little rude, but his words are wise and speak of truth. He holds no dislike for the hobbit himself, but he recognises the challenges he will face.

For what seems the hundredth time today, the dwarves once again raise their voices, talking over one another until it becomes a sea of mismatched words to everybody's ears. All of them seem to agree on Dwalin's assessment.

Gandalf rises from his seat, sudden darkness spreading throughout the room both literally and figuratively as he does so. "Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!" Gandalf stays standing, slightly hunched with the bend of the roof. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose, and while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of a dwarf, the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage.

"You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr Baggins. Gailien has also been invited by me and you will respect my choice. There is a lot more to the hobbit than appearances suggest. And he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself." Gandalf shares a look with the surprised Bilbo. "You must trust me on this," he says to Thorin.

The King looks a Bilbo then his gaze shifts to Gailien on this other side. She offers no emotion to him but waits patiently for his decision, though she already has an inkling of what it is going to be.

"Very well," the King resigns. "We'll do it your way."

Bilbo, realising that he has been including in this quest starts to object. "No. No..."

"Give them the contracts," Thorin instructs. Some dwarves cheer, eager to get over the arguments of whether Bilbo is a member or not. They already assumed Gailien is, considering Thorin has not had her thrown out yet.

"Orin!" Bofur exclaims with a smile. "We're off!"

"Please," Bilbo says, almost begging to let himself be heard. Gailien walks closer as Balin stands, pulling a length paper from his coat.

"It's just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangement, so forth." Balin passes a contract to each of them and Gailien takes it willingly, though Thorin snatches Bilbo's from Balin, stopping the hobbit from leaning over his shoulder and hands it over his shoulder to the hobbit.

"Funeral arrangements?"

Luckily, Thorin was made aware of the fifteenth member in time and Balin had been able to write up a second contract just before they came into the Shire so the ink is somewhat smudged on her own from where it was unable to dry before being stashed away. She opens it, flickering her eyes over the words. It's nothing unexpected, in fact, exactly what you would expect considering they are going to face a dragon. Although, she notices the funeral arrangements are not in her style.

While Bilbo reads over the words, his stomach dropping at each clause, Gailien walks over to Balin, pointing out one clause.

"I would prefer to just be burned if it's possible," she says to him as Balin reads over where she is gesturing to. "No need for funeral arrangements."

"Ah," he says. "Let me go finds some ink then." He wanders off into Bilbo's study to find some ink and quill to change the clause.

Bilbo groans in the background as the paper just continues to unfold in front of him. Thorin stands from his chair as Balin comes back, scribbling over the funeral cause.

"Just fire? No specifics?" he asks her. Gailien shakes her head, more attentive to Thorin who is speaking to Gandalf slowly, the words only brushing up against her ear.

"I cannot guarantee either of their safeties," he says.

"Understood," Gandalf responds.

"Nor will I be responsible for their fates."

"Agreed."

Gailien does not wish for Thorin to feel responsible for her, especially considering she is around double his own age (though still young for an elf). She has taken care of herself since she was young, and this contract is only to have her loyalties and any other arrangements in writing.

She continues skimming the paper until her eyes glaze over. Balin looks up to confirm the new clause with her but he notices that her eyes are glued on the wall opposite her.

"Lass?" he asks, frowning as the girl doesn't appear to be conscious, at least not mentally. A few other dwarves notice, including Bofur, the Princes and Bombour. Kili squints, looking at the elf girl curiously and with a slight bit of concern.

"Is she alright?" he asks loudly. Gandalf and Thorin take notice of the girl. While neither of them portrays any concern, Thorin is thoroughly more confused than the wizard who brings the pipe up to his mouth.

"No need to worry, she's seeing a vision," he says to the group. Kili's eyes widen as he looks back to the girl with childish wonder and this time his brother also takes more notice inquisitively.

The girl who is lost to the world is only seeing a quick image, one of a certain hobbit falling to the ground. He still holds the contract in hand so it must not be very far in the future at all. She finally breaks from it, feeling the eyes on her. She ducks her head, ignoring them as she looks over the new clause.

"Incineration?" Bilbo exclaims who has been mumbling to himself for the last minute or so.

"Oh, aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye," Bofur states casually, as though it is just a children's story. Bilbo barely holds himself together but reads on, not knowing how it could get any worse.

"You alright, laddie?" Balin asks, taking concern at the sight of the hobbit whose face has lost most of its colour. Gailien stands straighter, walking over to Bilbo, already knowing what is about to happen.

"Huh?" Bilbo responds in a daze, bending over and breathes a series of short rapid breathes to try and pull himself together. "Yeah, I fe..." he trails off, taking another deep breath this time. "I feel a bit faint."

Gailien walks out into the open room Bilbo is in, anticipating what is to come. She could stop Bofur's words, but Bilbo does need to hear what this quest will entail.

"Think furnace, with wings," Bofur says, walking over to take Gailien's old spot.

"I..I...I need air," Bilbo stammers out, now on the edge of passing out with all this information flowing through him. All the poor hobbit wanted was a nice, usual dinner, with no unexpected guests, no wizards, and certainly no quests.

"Flash of light, searing pain, then poof!" Bofur continues. "You're nothing more than a pile of ash!"

Well, at least if that is the case, they don't need to worry about her choice of funeral arrangements. But knowing Bofur has more words in mind she finally speaks up. "I think poor Bilbo has the idea, Bofur," she says to him with a small smile. She walks in front of Bilbo, but he barely takes notice of her as his eyes flicker around, trying to decide whether he needs to lie down or not. He looks over at the dwarves who are watching expectantly.

"No," is all he says before twisting backwards to fall. Gailien's hands are ready to catch him, breaking his fall before he can hit the ground. His head lops freely on her chest as his arms rest on either of her forearms with her elbows underneath his shoulders. He's heavy than he looks, she thinks. A few dwarves stand up, eager to see the hobbit's faint as though a dramatic performance.

"Help me get him on a chair," Gailien calls out, addressing any dwarf who will listen. Surprisingly, it is Dwalin who walks forward, grumbling under his breathe something about the weak minds of hobbits but he leans down, picking up the bottom half of the hobbit. Gailien walks backwards, her head resting on her should as she navigates to an old chair she saw before. Together, she and Dwalin lift him onto it. "Thanks," she huffs to the tall dwarf, slightly out of breath.

Dwalin nods, but his mind is caught on the fact that the girl had been very obviously limping, creating an uneven pattern of walking. "Are you injured, lass?" he asks, gesturing to her legs with his head as his arms cross.

Gailien glances down at her legs. "No, old injury. It doesn't hurt but left permanent damage," she answers, not pitying herself anymore for she is far over that stage. "It won't impede me or the quest. I can keep up perfectly fine."

Dwalin grunts, not speaking further on the matter but her words don't ease the worry in his mind that she may be a hindrance.


	5. Chapter 5: Song and Ale

The dwarves settle now that the evening's events have come to pass. Now all they wait for is the morning to come before they can begin on the treacherous road which may either bring them doom or glory, there being no in between. Most found themselves in Bilbo's living room, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Gailien finds herself in Bilbo's kitchen, putting together a mug tea as one of the other dwarves has already started a fire, boiling the water. Gailien works silently as she puts the drink together, using a mixture of herbs that she was taught back when she was apart of Mirkwood. It would help soothe the hobbit who is just starting to come around.

"Ah, so you're a tea drinker," Kili says, entering the kitchen. Truth be told, he wants to talk to the girl and searched around for her. Gailien looks over her shoulder at the young prince, smiling in both greeting and pleasant surprise that another dwarf is not so against her company. She has heard about the dwarves being fast in friendship, but also just as fast in enmity. It is either one end or the other with them.

"Not for me," she hums in a melodic tune, straining the herbs as she mixes a little bit of honey in for sweetening. "For Bilbo. Though I might make one for myself." She holds the steaming cup in her hands as she now turns to the dwarf. Kili stands at about her own height, maybe an inch or two taller. His youth shows in his face, even more so with his lack of beard. She also notices he doesn't wear as many hair beads as his brother or uncle.

Kili smirks playfully at her words. "Ah, so you are. Don't like the taste of ale, do you?" His words are teasing, recalling that she did not drink through the night. Gailien rolls her eyes, pushing past the dwarf who turns to follow her.

"I don't mind ale but it is an acquired taste and I prefer it over a fire then at a meal," she answers as the dwarf follows behind her into the room where Gandalf and Bilbo are talking. She leans over the side of the chair to see Bilbo now wide awake, still looking as shaky as before. "Here you go, Bilbo," she says, handing the mug to the hobbit.

Bilbo looks up at her in surprise, taking the mug. He had just been thinking that he needs a drink right at this moment. The aroma from the steam is enticingly sweet, one that already begins to calm him before he has even taken a sip.

"Thank you," he says shyly, taking a sip of it. It tastes as good as it smells, and he makes a mental note to ask her what she used if he got the chance before she left. Gailien smiles again, rubbing his shoulder before she turns around to Kili who is watching in the archway.

She walks past him, expecting him to follow and he does as she walks back over to the other end of Bag End. She passes Thorin and Balin who are talking amongst themselves but stop as the girl and Kili walk through. She glances at the both of them coyly but keeps walking on silently.

She enters the living room where most of the other dwarves have assembled around a fire. Her eyes latch onto the flame in slight excitement and she quickly shuffles over to it, sitting down so close to the flame that there is a risk her hair could catch alight. But her love for the heat, the flame, is too great and outweighs that risk.

Kili enters, walking over to his brother Fili, engaging in quiet talk about the quest. Gailien rubs her hands together, holding them over the flame to take more warmth in.

"I thought elves don't feel the cold," Dwalin muses deeply. He stands near the fireplace, leaning against the wall. Gailien smiles shyly again, feeling a slight redness at her cheeks. She wouldn't say the dwarf intimidates her but his aura can be unsettling.

"I'm afraid I did not receive that elven trait, master dwarf. I barely share anything with them for a matter of fact. I don't even think I'm half to be completely honest with you, I'm sure my father was also half or at least partially belonging to the race of men." She looks at the fire again, feeling eyes on her as she speaks the loudest in the room.

"What elvish kingdom do you come from?" Dwalin is the one to speak again, wanting to know as much as he can before they set out on this quest.

"Mirkwood," she answers dryly. "Horrid place really, wouldn't recommend visiting it if I were you. Thranduil is a greedy man, ridden in hate. But..." she trails of remembering the stories that she heard. Ones that she was promised not to utter in front of the King or his son. "...he used to be a great King. Or so I was told, but when his wife died, he just...he put all his love into her and when she died, so did all his love for anything in the world. Except perhaps his son."

The dwarves don't feel any sorry for the Elven King, nor should they in Gailien's opinion, but that doesn't mean she doesn't understand why he is the way he is. She just doesn't agree with it. Dwalin and a few other dwarves huff through their nose as Gailien describes Mirkwood, as though they will visit there for a holiday sometime soon.

"Why did you leave?"

The question comes this time from Fili. His brother nudges him in the ribs slightly, glaring at him. Kili realises that his words earlier were a little to forward and rude and he doesn't want his brother doing the same. Gailien shrugs, not wanting to go into a deep conversation on the topic. So instead, she taps her ever so slightly pointed ears.

"One thing I did get is a slight increase in hearing. And whispers reach my ears no harder than words spoken to my face do." She turns away from the fire to look at the dwarves, setting her eyes stern as she looks at them. "One thing I ask is that if you have something to say about me, be loud as though you are intending for me to hear. I don't take kindly to words spoken about me behind my back."

The dwarves settle down, their attention turning away from the girl. Once she has had enough of her fill of heat, Gailien stands, walking over to sit on one of the chairs with a high back that is still near the fire. She feels eyes on her and her gaze flickers about the room and they settle on the dwarf prince brothers. Their eyes flicker to hers every moment or so. Kili is saying something to his brother who nods his head, wandering off out to the kitchen. Their words are quiet enough that they don't reach her ears and she bites her cheek, thinking about how she literally just told them she doesn't take kindly to whispering about her.

Though it is from Kili who she is already somewhat fond of, and he seems nice enough to her so maybe the words aren't as harsh as she imagines them to be. That would be a change. Her eyes flick away once more, focusing on filtering out the noise around her.

Out of nowhere, a face appears in front of her, causing her to jolt slightly in her seat. Fili stands next to the seat, holding out a tankard towards her.

"My brother says you prefer ale around a fire," he says. Gailien glances over to Kili but his attention is turned elsewhere so she turns back to Fili, taking the drink.

"Thank you," she says with a slight laugh. "Though I didn't expect to have it served to me without even having to ask." It was a kind gesture from both the brothers, one she will not forget, no matter how small it sounds. They have gone out of their way to speak with her and she will offer them the same kindness.

Fili smiles at her, nodding his head to acknowledge her gratitude before wandering back over to his brother. He, like Kili, finds her intriguing. An unexpected addition to their company and while their race holds hate for the elves, they have not come to experience themselves, leaving them still impressionable.

Dwalin eyes off the two princes, not liking how comfortable they are around the girl but he would not say anything, knowing they all would be spending a lot more time around her and it is best if they all have mutual respect for one another.

"Lass," Balin says, walking over with the long contract in his hand. "It seems with all that's happened, you've forgotten to sign."

Gailien straightens in shock, recalling how she has completely forgotten after Bilbo's mishap. "Oh, sorry, Balin. Here, I'll sign it now." She takes the contract, placing her tankard by her feet as Balin holds out a quill already dipped in ink in his other hand. Gailien takes it with a small thanks, flipping through the page until she finds the line requiring her signature. She's never had to sign anything before, so she just writes her first name, dating it. Satisfied, Balin takes the contract back.

"Welcome to the company," he says, giving her a toothy smile.

Gailien picks her drink back up, tucks her feet under her legs on the chair as she cups that tankard in both of her hands. She begins to doubt whether the hobbit is actually going to come on this quest, but a small, very brief vision of him running towards them with the contract flashes through her mind and she smiles, hiding it behind her drink.

These brief visions are easy enough to come by, most often when she deeply desires to know something but the bigger visions, the ones that are often meaningful are the ones that require the most concentration (or the absolute least) for them to come. And often she does not know what she wants to see but once she does, their importance soon materialises on its own accord.

Thorin and Balin walk into the room. Her eyes trail after the King, watching as he stands near the fireplace, leaning against the hearth. His eyes are sullen with duty, a look that has not left him all night.

Thorin begins singing softly the Dwarven Song of Old Wealth, one all dwarves know.

"Far over the Misty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day,

To seek our pale enchanted gold."

The dwarves fall into the tune and Gailien begins to feel as though she belongs anywhere but this room, her legs urging her to leave but her heart is caught, listening intently to the words. Her eyes glisten, hearing the kinship between them and her jealousy rises, wanting nothing more than to feel that as well. But her jealousy is not at the people here with her, only at the lack of experiences in her life that others get to enjoy.

"The pines were roaring on the heights,

The wind was moaning in the night,

The fire was red, it flaming spread,

The trees like torches blazed with light."

Though she realises how sad the words are in truth and all ill feelings drop. They lost their home to fire and smoke, she lost hers because she did not want to deal with the judgements of others. How petty her problems seem to theirs.

The night comes to an end as the dwarves find spaces to sleep. Most use any seats they can lie down on, others taking to the floor. Gailien searches around, feeling a little intrusive at the thought of sleeping in the hobbits home when he surely wants nothing more than for us to all leave but sleeping here will prove the least of his worries. Most comfy spots have been taken so she joins Bofur on the floor in front of the fire, using her pack which she left in the front room as a pillow.

"The song was beautiful," she says to the dwarf, quietly as to not cause unrest to the others. Bofur smiles at the girl as he lies on his back.

"Aye, it is. Every dwarf knows the words," he says, smiling fondly at his own memories. "Do you think Bilbo is going to come?"

Gailien nods, smirking slightly as she points to her temple with her finger. Bofur frowns for a moment, not understanding the implication but as soon as he does, he grins, settling down further into the floor knowingly.

"I heard dwarves love to bet," she says. "Maybe we could split the winnings..."

Bofur smirks, matching her own as he catches onto her words. "That they do." For the guarantee of winning and splitting is a much greater attraction to him than possibly losing and winning nothing. Considering he will owe her his winnings anyways.

Gailien is one of the last to fall asleep. They say your body always finds it harder to fall asleep in new places, something to do with unknown dangers but she puts it down to just not being tired enough. Sure, she is mentally drained from the night; encountering so many dwarves in a confined area will do that. But physically she has not done enough to just fall asleep at the moment she closes her eyes. By Bofur's snore, Gailien is sure he was able to.

Eventually, the sound of the crackling fire and the lull of dwarfish snores pulls her into a dreamless sleep.

Xx

A booted foot in the thigh awakens Gailien in the morning. Her eyes snap open, a little slow but her mind is much more awake than her body. The boot is already moving away with its other foot by the time she turns her head. The boot belongs to Thorin, who along with Dwalin is waking to company.

The sun is barely peeking over the hills as the dwarves stretch, yawning with wide mouths and open chests. Gailien stretches her back, using her knees as leverage as they begin to move about her. Leaving her pack, she stands wandering around to see what needs to be done, leaving Thorin to give the orders.

She saunters out into the main entrance, looking around for them as the dwarves seem to have their own ideas in mind. She glances at the pantry as she walks by, intending to just see the state of it but her feet stop underneath her. A heavy sigh leaves her mouth and she leans up against the archway. The pantry is practically empty, nothing like the way it was before they came.

Thorin is walking past with Balin, going over the morning's plan. Balin walks off as the King finishes, leaving Thorin standing just outside the pantry. His forehead raises as he sees the girl standing there with her sullen face.

"Bombur and Bifur are already down at the markets," he says, coming to stand next to her. Gailien had heard him behind her but had not expected him to start talking to her. Her head turns towards him with her mouth slightly parted in astonishment. "They will restock the hobbit's pantry as it was before."

Gailien's face brightens slightly, her lips closing in a partial smile. "Well, thank you, on his behalf."

"We're not savages I'll have you know," Thorin remarks with a faint glare at the elf. He can only think of the insulting things she must be thinking about how they acted last night. Thorin is no fool, the dwarves left all but the shelves for the hobbit and he had been expecting it.

Gailien shakes her head quickly, turning her body towards the King. "No, sorry. I wasn't thinking that all. I just wasn't sure if we were going to have time to refill it is all."

Thorin's faint glare doesn't move but he nods once, his eyes flickering once again over her. "Be ready in an hour and we will leave."

Gailien nods, glad that she has some idea of how this morning is going. At least her concern for the hobbit's out-of-pocket expenses has now all but vanished.

Not having much to do, Gailien just pulls her hair back into a ponytail, tying it off with a thin strip of leather. All her belongings are already packed, including some food for the beginning of the journey that is non-perishable. With nothing left, and the dwarves handling themselves just fine, Gailien wanders around the house, putting things back in order. Anything she doesn't know is just based on an educated guess.

A load of plates is balancing in her arms, hoping to make it to the pantry in as little trips as possible. Her chin rests against the top, holding them down with her own weight. Her back is arching backwards with the weight as she navigates but luckily her sense of balance is keen enough to not topple her over.

"Need help with that?"

Gailien has to turn her whole body to look at the person speaking to her. Fili stands to her left, his hands resting on his hips with a leg cocked forward. One of his eyebrows are raised, almost pointing to the plates.

She is about to refuse but she would still be able to make the least number of trips but with only half the weight. "If you don't mind," she answers, laughing faintly as to not send the plates crashing with large chest movements. Fili smirks, taking the top half of the plates from her and she can swear that she seemed to grow a few inches with the lower weight on her.

The Prince follows her into the pantry, stacking the plates on the lower shelves where she had seen the remaining ones last night before they were taken as well.

"How did you sleep? Fili questions as they take their second load.

"It took a while to fall asleep," she answers. "But once I was it was fine. The fire lasted for most of the night."

"The same for me. But I doubt Kili got any." Gailien gives him a look to give an explanation of his words. "He's excited about this quest. He looks up to Thorin a lot."

Gailien has noted Thorin's fondness for the young Prince. "Are you not excited?" she questions but she thinks she knows the answer, recalling his motivation words last night.

"Of course," Fili answers immediately. "But Kili is... a bit more adventurous, and he sees this as an opportunity to prove himself."

Gailien smiles in fondness for both the brothers, dusting her hands on her pants as they finish stacking the plates and bowls. "I don't doubt that he will have many chances."

Fili, however, doesn't smile as she does. His brother's actions are impulsive and even childish at times. But it is his brother and he would do anything for him. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Gailien becomes sullen for a moment before putting on another smile, one intending to comfort. She places a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "I will also be looking out for him. And I don't doubt Thorin will be as well."

"Thank you." Fili gives her an appreciative look. "But don't let him know that I said anything," he adds, knowing his brother wanted to appear tough, especially in front of new company. Gailien chuckles, shaking her head.

"I wouldn't dream of it."


	6. Chapter 7: The Shield of Oak

Chapter 6: The Road Ahead

Bilbo Baggins’ home looks as though there was never any unexpected visitors, he could almost pass it off as a bad dream. But alas, the dwarves have left, leaving an unsigned contract as the only evidence of their appearance at all.

Gailien has been given a black and white paint pony called Clove. He has quite the attitude, typical for a small horse but hers seems to have one more so than the rest. He shook he head, stomped his hoof, ears flattening against his head as she had mounted him. But he is a good pony to ride if you put those things aside and once the pace has been set, the pony seems to forget it even has someone on his back in the first place.

Thorin and Gandalf lead the company through the woods, leading out of the Shire without Bilbo but Gailien (as well as Bofur and Gandalf) know that he is bound to show up sooner or later. She rides next to Bofur and Ori, the two dwarves she finds herself most comfortable around. Of course, there are the princes but Gailien feels almost intruding when she is with them both.

“I think we should have a wager, laddies!” Bofur calls out to the company. They ride in the middle, letting his voice be heard in both directions. He glances at the girl, giving her a subtle wink.

“What type of wager?” Nori, the dwarf with the very odd hair shape questions as the dwarves’ interest raise at Bofur’s proposition. Gailien can almost feel their excitement from the way they shuffle in their saddles.

“Whether our hobbit will show up or not,” Bofur responds. He can almost feel the new weight of gold in his pocket. Gailien is also anticipating the new heaviness in her gold sack. It isn’t very heavy to begin with. Her coin comes from game, sold to nearby villages, often to those who cannot hunt themselves.

“The hobbit?” Gloin exclaims. “He wouldn’t leave the Shire if we dragged him by his feet.”

Many of the dwarves agree though Thorin is the one to stay mostly silent. Gailien almost feels brave enough to egg him on and join the betting. Almost. She’s satisfied by seeing the amusement in his eyes as his head flicks over his shoulder once or twice. The dwarves begin calling their bets, even Gandalf joining the wagering. Of course, he wages that the hobbit will show up.

“What about you, Gailien?” Kili is the one to ask, riding up beside her, leaving his brother. Gailien shrugs innocently. One hand leaves the reigns, a finger rising to tap of her temple.

“I’m not sure it would be fair,” she remarks. Kili’s mouth opens and he rides even closer, leaning a little in his saddle.

“Can you tell me?” he questions her in a hushed voice. Gailien’s face morphs into mock offence. Kili’s own face drops at hers, not thinking that it would have been such a big deal, just a joking advantage.

“I will not help you cheat,” she hisses at him. Kili swallows, nodding slightly as he slows his horse back down to wait for his brother. The girl almost feels a little bad about how he has reacted, but she commends her own acting skills. With a side look to Bofur (who would not be happy that he has a price to pay for his knowledge) and she is sure he isn’t watching, Gailien slows her own horse down. Kili notices her but tries to avoid her gaze, already feeling embarrassed enough.

As she rides next to him, her hand reaches over, latching onto his elbow. Kili looks over, seeing the small smirk on her face. Her head nods ever so slightly that it would be missed to anybody but Kili whose face changes back to its normal cheekiness. Fili catches up to them as they still ride slow, his eyes flicker at the exchange that he has missed. Gailien smiles at Fili, before nudging her horse back into a trot to return to Bofur and Ori.

Kili beams as he and his brother start riding together. Fili looks once up at the girl then to his brother. “What was that about,” he asks.

“Nothing to worry about, dear brother,” Kili smirks, feeling confident as they would soon call out their own bets. Fili huffs at his brother’s response.

Soon, Bombur, who has been recording the wagers comes down to Fili and Kili. Fili votes that Bilbo won’t show up, as most dwarves have but as Kili boldly wagers on the opposite, Fili quickly changes his own, having a strong suspicion of his brother’s and Gailien’s conversation. 

Gailien rides close to Ori who tells her of the journal he has acquired for the journey, intending to document everything for the history books. The morbid thought that it would require them at least one of them surviving passes her mind but the thought doesn’t become words as she listens. Maybe one day, she would read about herself.

As she sits silently, to her dismay, a few dwarves spare looks at her. Ones that she can recognise from a league away. Distrust, disgust, scathing. Thankfully, they come from the dwarves she hasn’t particularly talked to yet, but words become poison and the antidote is rare. However ever much she is loyal to this quest, Gailien will not stand if they are to belittle her. Whether it be for her appearance or her race.

They reach the woods, a calming place for Gailien and her mind drifts as Ori finishes talking. Bilbo Baggins shouldn’t be too far off by now.

“Whoa! Wait!”

The company stops their horses as the young hobbit, who is dressed in a maroon coat, far too nice for the wild, runs through the grass to catch up with them. Bofur smirks to himself, patting his coin sack in anticipation. Fili and Kili are not surprised either, but their uncle certainly is.

Bilbo walks up to the front of the company where Balin and Thorin ride. The contract raised in the air, flapping about in the soft wind.

“I signed it,” he announces, handing it over to Balin.

Balin gives the hobbit a look, pulling out his seeing glass. Indeed, the contract has been signed by the hobbit. “Everything appears to be in order,” he declares. “Welcome, master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

A few members mic their chuckles with slight cheers (likely belonging to those who know they have won the wager). Bilbo grins, proud of himself as Balin winks at him.

Thorin, not feeling the same atmosphere as the rest, only prepares to start riding again. “Give him a pony.”

Bilbo’s grin drops within the second, his hand raising in refusal. He has perfectly good feet, and he intends to use them. Bilbo has never ridden a pony before, and he did not intend to. “No, no, no, no. Thank you.” The company begins moving forward again as Thorin does, leaving Bilbo to argue against deaf ears. “I’m sure I can keep up on foot. Yeah, I…I’ve done my fair share of walking holidays, you know? Even got as far as Frog Morton once.”

Gailien laughs as Kili and Fili ride on either side of the hobbit, gripping him under the elbows. The hobbits’ feet leave the ground, swinging around the air as the brother’s carry him over to Myrtle, one of the luggage horses. That won’t be an issue, considering hobbits are small, lighter, and he does not carry heavy weapons on him.

Gailien leaves Ori’s side, riding up to join Bilbo. He holds the reigns high near his chest, not wanting to relax on the pony. The hobbit barely glances at her, his mind too occupied with the pony. Gailien reaches over, placing a hand on his wrist.

“You can lower your hands, you know?” She says to him. “It will be much more comfortable.” She places a little pressure on his arms, pushing them down ever so slightly but doesn’t force him. Her hand leaves and Bilbo settles mid-way, but still holds them in both hands. Gandalf, who is the only rider on a horse, joins the hobbit and his companion.

Feeling squished between them, she slows her pace until she matches the riders behind her.

“I can’t believe you gave Kili a hint but not me.”

Gailien turns her head, watching the older prince shake his head in disbelief. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she smirks, facing her head straight again. Fili rolls his eyes, his lips pulling back. “Besides, you didn’t ask,” she adds in a lower volume.

“I think you’re just playing favourites,” he teases, glancing over at his brother who is riding ahead. It is Gailien’s turn to roll her eyes.

“If I am playing favourites, then Bilbo is at the top of my list,” she remarks, smiling fondly at the hobbit who looks back at the sound of his name.

“Come on, Nori! Pay up!”

Coin sacks start flying through the air, including to Kili and Fili who cheer loudly. Bilbo watches them in confusion.

“What’s that about?” he questions Gandalf.

“Oh, they took wagers on whether or not you’d turn up. Most of them bet you wouldn’t,” he responds. Bilbo is not honestly surprised at the fact they took a wager.

“And what did you think?”

Gandalf smiles partially. “Well…” One of his hands leaves the reigns, flying up into the air just in time to catch a sack of coins being thrown at him by another dwarf. He opens his side bag, placing the coin inside. “My dear fellow, I never doubted you for a second.”

Bilbo suddenly sneezes. “Oh, it’s horse hair,” he grumbles. “Having a reaction.” His hands begin searching his pockets until they have all been thoroughly searched and he has still not found what he desires. “Uh…wait, wait. Stop! Stop!” The company stops as the hobbit cries out, double-checking all his pockets once again as his stress levels rise. “We have to run around.”

Gailien and Fili who are riding behind, caught in their own conversation come to a sudden stop, nearly riding up the rear of Gandalf’s horse.

“What on earth is the matter?” Gandalf questions.

“I forgot my handkerchief.”

Many of the company sigh. Bofur rips part of his robe off, throwing it back to the hobbit who catches it. “Here, use this.” Bilbo pinches the fabric up high, his nose almost shrivelling at it in disgusts. Gailien and Fili hold back any sounds of laughter.

“Move on!” Thorin commands.

The company starts moving once again, leaving Bilbo behind who is still holding Bofur’s robe. Which reminds her…

“I’ve got payment to collect,” she muses allowed, nudging her horse into a short canter. Fili frowns as the girl rides forward, leaving him riding to the hobbit.

“What?” he calls out, but the girl doesn’t answer.

Gailien rides up next to Bofur who has already split the winnings, handing her half of the coins. Gailien beams, taking them quietly and discreetly but she risks a look back over her shoulder to Fili who is still watching her. Her fingers display the gold between her and Bofur’s torsos to him before her arm retracts to put the gold away.

Fili who saw it only shakes his head, laughing to himself.

They ride onwards, the scenery changing as the spend the rest of the day of the ponies’ backs, just as they would for many days to come. Gailien spends most of the ride again with Bofur. His character is one that draws her in, and she is glad that he has taken to her company as well. 

“Gailien!”

Her heads snap forward as her name is called loudly by somebody up the front. She leans in her saddle, looking for who wants her attention. Everybody is still riding forward but Thorin has his upper back turned towards his company, his eyes stuck on her. Seeing that he has her eye, he motions for her to come to him.

Gailien does so quietly, cantering up until she rides in step with, he King’s mount. She waits for him to speak first, not feeling the confidence she had the previous night.

“I want to know how this thing you have works,” he says. “Can you see certain things and how far into the future can you see?”

His words are stoic, even a little curiosity peeping through and Gailien takes that as a decent sign. She almost smiles, realising that is all he wants with her. “Oh. Well, I can see certain things if I wish too but it takes a good amount of concentration and it’s not always successful,” she explains. “Most of the time I am shown things in my own near future and they don’t take any effort at all. But I’m going to need a good headspace to look far into the future, or one not involving me in it.”

“Would you be able to do this while we have made camp?”

Gailien nods. “Yes, that will be fine. I just need to be able to focus is all.”

"You let me know if you see anything,” Thorin demands, giving her a stern eye. “And I mean anything and everything to do with this company.” Gailien nods again. “Good.”

Gailien takes that as the end of the conversation so she pulls Clove to the side, slowing him down to let the company pass her. She does not wish to be stuck up the front with the King and Dwalin. She would get more conversation out of a toad.

But alas, Balin rides up next to her and she finds herself in pace with his pony. “So, I hear you were born with this gift?” he asks, starting a new conversation with the Seer. Gailien nods, giving the white-haired dwarf a warm smile in greeting. She is pleased that another member has taken it upon themselves to engage with her. It seems as though all her fears of dwarfish rivalry with her race are slowly ebbing away.

“Yes, it is a gift from Eru himself. Or at least that I was told,” she responds, sinking back into her saddle with relaxation. The day is fine, and all seems well. But then again, it is only the first day.

“What type of things do you see?” Balin continues questioning. He is honoured to be one of the few people to meet such a person, and he will not miss the opportunity to let his curiosity run freely. Gailien tilts her head, trying to recall anything interesting.

“Well, it started when I was younger. I would sometimes see the evening meals before they were even decided upon.” She laughs slightly, recalling her childish manners. “Most things are my own near future but with training I have been able to extend it to see the possible futures of others, both near and far.”

There is not much in the way of writings of her kind, but Gailien has read the same pages over and over again, trying to pull any information that she could out of them. There has not exactly been any guidance for her in her training, but she hopes that one day, she will be strong enough to be able to create prophecies of importance. Ones that mean something to people, and not just if a person is going to choose the right or left path.

“You are indeed a unique individual, Miss Gailien,” Balin remarks, the familiar twinkle in his eye. Gailien blushes slightly, ducker her head.

“I’m afraid while I think it is a gift, it has caused me more trouble than it’s worth most of the time,” she says, the reigns tightening under her fingers. “But I am glad that I am able to offer my assistance to the company. It is not often that people seek me for things other than telling of fortune. They just want to be told who they are going to marry, or if wealth will find its way to them.”

Balin mulls over her words for a moment, understanding her implications. “You believe the reclaiming of Erebor is a worthy cause then?”

Gailien nods. “That I do, Balin.”

“Well.” Balin smiles warmly, sitting deeper in his saddle. “Thorin may not show it, but I know he is pleased to have the help you may bring us.” Gailien eyes the dwarf king who rides a few meters in front of them, likely overhearing their conversation.

“Even if I am a half-elf?” she muses, an amused tilt on her lips as she sees Thorin shift ever so slightly in his seat. He is not comfortable with others speaking on his behalf, it seems. Balin plumps the air between his teeth and lips for a moment, trying to find the words.

“He may hold hate for the elves, but I am sure that he will overcome any prejudice he holds against you in time.”

Gailien doesn’t answer for a while, watching the king’s back. She knows he does not enjoy her presence, as many of the other dwarves but she can see the great leader inside him. One that may open his mind and possibly accept her one day. She just wonders how long it will take. For both her and the hobbit.

“We shall see.”


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Shield of Oak

The road leading away from the Shire is an easy one, leading across small streams and placid hills. And they cannot help but be pleased with the warm weather, blessing them with a sun that is only occasionally covered by small white clouds.

The initial chatter of the excited company dies down and they ride into a single file, spreading out along the plains. Gailien finds herself near the end, feeling more comfortable looking over the company than feeling their eyes on her back.

Kili has decided to stick with her, asking her questions about her past. Thankfully, the dwarf has the tact to stray from her elvish past, leaning more to her recent history. In return, Kili shares his and Fili’s stories, which are more than entertaining to her ears. She nearly falls out of her saddle with laughter as Kili rags out his brother (who is thankfully out of earshot) for something reckless he did in his younger days.

Soon the first night comes close enough that Thorin calls for a camp to be made. They settle on the side of a large hill, a small concavity in the rock ledge providing cover for one half of the camp, leaving only the drop-off and the tracks to the open.

Gailien sets her own pack down at the back against the rocky wall, wanting to be nowhere near the edge. The others begin making a fire, setting out their own bedrolls. Bombur, the delegated chef, begins preparing food to be cooked over the fire. They have enough meat from the markets this morning for the next day or so, then some more dried meat to last longer but soon they will be required to hunt.

Kili is the bowman, with his short bow so Gailien assumes that he and maybe another dwarf will be the hunters while the others act as foragers. While a bow isn’t her choice of weapon, Gailien does know how to set traps for smaller creatures and if given a bow, can use it well enough.

She lies her cloak down, adding another layer of padding to her bedroll. Without else much to do, she sits down, watching Bombur cook and the other dwarves occupy themselves. Kili and Fili set their own bedrolls a few steps away from her, making them the only dwarves to be sleeping anywhere near her.

She watches Fili with interest as he starts pulling a few knives from his person. One, two, three, four... All from hidden spots such as in his boots and internal pockets. He holds them up, using his sleeve to rub off invisible marks. He runs a finger across the edge on an angle, but even so, he slits a small bit of skin.

He lets out a quiet gasp, pulling his finger away to inspect it. A small pool of blood forms on the fingertip. Gailien snorts in amusement.

“I’m beginning to wonder if you even know how to use them,” she remarks, leaning against the wall. Fili’s gaze darts to her, not realising he had eyes on him. His cheeks warm a little, being caught in an amateurish mistake, but he holds himself up.

“Just sharper than I remember,” he counters, hoping it sounds as witty as it did in his head. It seems to work as Gailien smiles, rolling her eyes. She glances over his body, not seeing anymore.

“How many do you have?” she questions. Fili smirks, twisting the knife in his hand.

“A fair few,” he answers, feeling aware of the number of weapons currently stashed on his person. Kili joins the conversation.

“Sometimes he forgets he has them and then pokes himself when he reaches for something,” the younger brother says, leaning over Fili to speak to the girl. Gailien chuckles at his words, causing Fili to blush even more. He smacks his brother’s chest who also laughs at Fili’s expense.

“You forget that you managed to shoot your own foot once,” Fili counters, placing the knives back in their place. “I still don’t know how you did it.”

Kili narrows his eyes, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Gailien laughs loudly this time, enjoying the brotherly banter. Feeling sorry for Kili, she tugs at the sleeve of her shirt, revealing her forearm. She shuffles over closer to them, holding out her arm to them.

“See this?” The brothers look at where she is gesturing too, finding a scar that belongs to a short but deep old wound. “I was trying to be fancy with my swords. Apparently, fancy isn’t my style.”

The boys chortle lightly at her story and their embarrassments are soon forgotten.

“Do you have many scars?” Kili asks. If she is an elf, and a much older than himself, she must have scars from many battles through her time. Gailien nods.

“I do, though they are usually hidden by clothes,” she answers, suddenly finding the topic uncomfortable. Kili doesn’t sense her change at all.

“Did you get them from battles?” he asks. Fili eyes the girl, and unlike his brother, sees the small change in her eyes at the topic. Gailien pauses for a moment, deciding what her response will be.

“Yes,” she lies. It is not a complete lie, for many of them are. Though they are the smaller ones like the one on her forearm, barely noticeable unless pointed out to onlookers. No, the scar that people would see lies on the bottom half of her back, uneven and raised high. It is many scars moulded together. Gailien would think it ugly but she has never seen it, not wanting to look in a mirror so she often forgets it is there. That is, until she starts walking again and there is the constant reminder in her gate.

Night well and truly greets them, darkness looming over the shallow cavern. The only light is from the dying fire and the stars watching over them. Most of the company is asleep, except for Gandalf, Bilbo, the two princes, Balin and Gailien. As well as a few other dwarves still trying to find sleep. Although, the Seer is trying hard to fall asleep – her eyes shut tightly but sleep just will not come to her.

Her ears hear the sound of shuffling, lighter than a dwarf’s.

Bilbo sighs as he fails to fall asleep to Bombur’s constant snoring, regretting his choice of sleeping arrangements. He pushes himself off the ground. Using his burglary skills, he swipes an apple from the food stock, walking over to his pony, Myrtle. 

Giving up on sleep for a while, Gailien sits back up with a short huff, finding interest in Bilbo who dotes over his pony. Gailien has already given Clove a carrot earlier, earning her a glare from Bombur but the dwarf didn’t argue aloud. She is thankful for that, not sure how far her boundaries lay yet.

As Bilbo decides to go back to his spot, there is a cry in the distance, echoing into their camp. Gailien shrivels her nose but knows it is too far away for them to need to worry, whatever it is. Bilbo turns to the dwarf princes and Gailien who are visibly awake.

“What was that?” he questions, never having heard such an animalistic cry in his entire fifty years of life. Gailien doesn’t answer, not knowing for certain herself.

“Orcs,” Kili answers with concern.

Gailien’s gaze shifts between him and the hobbit. She has met orcs in passing and usually avoided confrontation which is easy enough when you travel solo unless they rode wargs. Wargs are usually used for hunting though so they weren’t often found on her path.

Bilbo hurries closer to the group, away from the edge. “Orcs?”

Thorin wakes from his light sleep against a rock, listening for the sound again but they do not appear, so his attention turns to his nephews.

“Throat cutters,” Fili adds, joining in on his brother’s antics. “There’d be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them.”

“They strike, in the wee small hours, when everyone’s asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood,” Kili finishes. Gailien shakes her head, catching onto the boy’s antagonization of Bilbo and leans back against the rock near Fili.

Bilbo becomes absolutely terrified, looking back out into the night, imagining himself being killed by an orc just before sunrise.

“You’re both mean,” Gailien hisses to Fili, who laughs quietly with Kili at Bilbo’s terror. Fili goes to answer her but Thorin beats him to it.

“You think that’s funny?” he questions his nephews as he starts walking across the camp. Bilbo spins back around at Thorin’s sudden appearance. “You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?”

Kili looks down guilty at his uncle’s reprimanding. “We didn’t mean anything by it,” he says quietly. Gailien’s growing annoyance dies out as Kili’s face drops.

“No, you didn’t. You know nothing of the world.” Thorin walks off to the far side of camp, standing near the edge of the cliff to be by himself and brood.

Taking pity on the younger brother, Gailien moves from her spot, taking a new seat between the brothers. She reaches out, squeezing his shoulder. Kili turns at her gesture, giving her a tight smile. She looks back at Fili, but he doesn’t seem as affected by his uncle’s scorn, so she settles back against the stone next to him.

“Don’t mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs,” Balin says to Kili from nearby, resting his arm against the stone. The three of them plus Bilbo look at Balin then to Thorin. “After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first.

“Moria had been taken by legions of orcs, led by the most vile of all their race, Azog the Defiler.” Gailien shivers at his name, recalling the whisper of the title amongst the Elves in her younger days. Most orcs are vile enough, so it is hard for her to imagine what could be worse than their usual. “The giant Gundabad orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began by beheading the King.” Gailien looks over to Thorin, feeling a new rising sympathy for him. “Thrain, Thorin’s father, was driven mad by grief, he went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him. A young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armour rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield.”

“Oakenshield,” Gailien mutters as the connection forms in her head. Balin nods at the girl. She hopes that one day she could carry a name with such an honour. One that is earned and not from hereditary. She cannot even fathom what it may be for.

“Yes. Azog the Defiler learned that day, that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated, but there was no feast, nor song that night for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow, there is one I could call King.”

Gailien finds new respect growing inside her, not only for Thorin but the entire dwarf race. Never before has she heard such tales of strength and determination. Her eyes glue to Thorin who has turned to look back over his company. Her heart yearns for him – for this quest. Thorin has seen more heartache and battle than she has yet she is far older than him. She feels little in his presence.

The company has awoken by this stage, standing as they listen to Balin’s tale. Thorin walks through them as their gaze upon their leader with newfound respect.

“And the Pale Orc? Bilbo asks. “What happened to him?”

“He slunk back into the hole whence he came from,” Thorin answers. “That filth died of his wounds long ago.”

A small relief floods her, hearing that such a monstrosity no longer walks the earth.

The camp settles back down, even Thorin finding a spot on his bedroll. He still lies on the outer edge on the company but not so far that he doesn’t look as though he belongs. Instead of trying to find sleep herself, Gailien stays between the brothers. She crosses her legs, resting her palms gently on her knees and closes her eyes.

She endeavours to block the sounds of the camp, which are noisy even in the night, but one conversation makes her ear twitch with annoyance.

“What do you think she’s doing?”

“Is that how elves sleep?”

“No, she was lying down before.”

Gailien sighs in frustration, pulling herself out of the attempted meditation. He hands fold into her lap and he back slumps forward. “She was trying to meditate,” she answers the brothers who were questioning back and forth on either side of her.

“Why were you meditating?” Kili asks, desperately wanting the answers to the questions the elf girl raises.

“To do my job,” she retorts. “I’m trying to concentrate to call forth and possible futures we may encounter.” Kili’s mouth rounds in realisation and Fili purses his lips, nodding to himself.

“Have you seen anything yet?”

“I don’t think we’ve given her a chance to,” Fili says, chuckling at his brother. Gailien huffs in agreement. She pulls herself back into the still position.

“Just a few minutes of peace, I cannot force anything to come.”

The brothers do as she asks, sitting back as they intently watch her for any sign of a vision coming to her. They have seen it once before but maybe she would react differently when she meditates.

Thorin, who is not yet asleep, sits back up on his bedroll and latches his attention onto the girl. He, like is nephews, waits for any sign of a vision to appear to her. Gailien doesn’t move physically but her eyes dart underneath her lids and her brow twitches ever so slightly.

Behind closed eyes, Gailien doesn’t see much. A quick scene of rain flashes in front of her, making her groan. Thorin stiffens at the sound, his heart quickening in concern. Fili shuffles in his seat, leaning forwards towards the girl ever so slightly as Kili waits intently.

The scene of rain washes away, replaced by an oddly dressed figure. A man. Critters of the forest surround him. Gailien tries to hold onto the image to pull more information out of it but loses it, forcing her eyes to open.

She hunches back over, leaning her head back against the stone.

“What did you see?”

Gailien tilts her head to see who asked and is greeted by Thorin’s firm eyes. “We meet somebody soon. Radagast. I don’t know why or when but we cross paths with him.”

“Who is Radagast?” he presses. The more secretive their mission is, the easier it will be to slip by any enemies on their journey.

“Someone we should not consider a foe,” is all she replies. Gailien knows of Radagast, having come by him once on her travels but the man is odd, and she didn’t take to his company well. That isn’t to say she doesn’t like the man, just that his presence overwhelms her.

Gandalf remains silent, observing both the King and Seer. After all, he is merely a guide to help them. If they cross paths with the Brown Wizard, there should not be many issues or quarrels.

“Anything else?” Thorin questions, wanting to know every little detail he can squeeze out of the girl’s power.

“Prepare to be wet tomorrow.” Rising from her temporary spot, she crawls back over to her bed space, tucking the cover up over her shoulders until only the top of her head shows up. Exhaustion has finally come.

Thorin rolls his eyes, nodding in a short thanks but Gailien doesn’t see it, her eyes already closed.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: False Foretelling

Thorin stares at the grey sky as the morning sun barely seeps through the gaps of the thick softness. The camp is being packed back up and they are almost ready to move. Gailien notices the King standing on the edge of the drop-off. He seems lost in thought.

She walks over to him slowly, stepping over the packs not yet put on the horses. Thorin does not speak up as he notices her presences, which Gailien takes as a good enough sign.

“It seems my vision was right,” she muses in a light tone. “I think rain isn’t far off.”

“Rain will not slow us,” Thorin replies, still not looking at the girl. His eyes drift over the horizon, taking in the plains. Gailien turns her eyes to him though, gauging him but there is nothing for him to give her. Eventually, she shrugs slightly, looking back out over the horizon as he does.

“No, but it makes the journey uncomfortable.”

Finally, Thorin veers his own head towards her, tilting it down slightly. His eyes narrow in a mix of boredom and annoyance. “If rain makes you uncomfortable then maybe you do not belong here. Go back to the comforts of your home.”

Gailien’s face drops slightly, a little hurt at his indifference to her presence. Her attempt to draw him into a light conversation is failing miserably. But she is here now and would carry it out. “Unfortunately, I do not have a home to go to.” Thorin’s head turns ever so slightly back to her out of the pull of his eyes. Gailien smiles sadly. “I stay here and there for awhile then move on once I get bored.”

“Where do you go?”

Gailien hides her smile at Thorin’s interest. Perhaps he is asking out of politeness, but he does not strike her as the type to be nice for the sake of formality. He doesn’t need to be, she supposes. He can command respect through other means.

Gailien is slightly envious at his ability to do so, a natural leader. Her presence alone has never done her any good and it has forced her into being overly polite, mostly in the company of elves. But even then, she has never been able to earn their respect.

She glances back over her shoulder to the dwarves. Kili and Fili are packing their ponies along with her own. She did not even need to make an effort for them to speak to her. Ori and Bofur as well. Her life would have been so different is she was born a dwarf, though she is not sure how she would handle the facial hair.

Her eyes blink a few times as her head returns straight, realising she has not answered the King’s question. “Anywhere,” she responds. “I was in Gondor for many years, but I’ve been in the wild for the most recent ones. Where were you before Gandalf found you?”

Her question is a risk, asking a King a personal question. But alas, he does answer. “Same as you. I was on the road working as a blacksmith. Gandalf found me in Bree.” Thorin looks over his own shoulder as Dwalin calls his name.

“We’re ready to move,” the warrior dwarf declares. Thorin doesn’t say anything to end their conversation, just walking away back to his own pony. Gailien smiles to herself, following his lead and saunters over to Kili and Fili who are holding theirs and her ponies. She takes the reigns from Fili.

“Thank you,” she says to them. Kili smirks, mounting his pony.

“Wouldn’t want Thorin to be pissed when you hold everybody up because you haven’t packed yet,” he cheeks. Fili and Gailien laugh, also mounting. Her cloak is tied around her in anticipation of the oncoming weather, and she can see that the brothers are also dressed warmly and in their coats.

“Well luckily I have you two looking out for me then,” she teases, nudging her horse to pass them.

“Just returning the favour!”

Gailien looks back at them in curiosity. Kili is still grinning and pats his waist. Gailien’s brows furrow in confusion for a few moments before she recalls the wager made yesterday. Laughter bubbles in her throat, leaving it freely.

The dryness of their clothes does not last long and only an hour into their travels do the clouds decide to release what they have been holding. The rain starts as a small patter and she sees Thorin’s glance at her as if saying ‘is this it, really?’ But soon enough her head begins to hurt as the water droplets slap against her scalp and shoulders, drenching her cloak. At least it offers her a slight warmth.

Her eyes blink feverishly to keep the water out of them, and she tries to pull the hood further over her face, but the wind continues to push it underneath.

Everybody looks just as miserable as she feels, but none more so than poor Bilbo Baggins. The hobbit has come terribly underprepared as is only covered in his red jacket. The dwarves are hardy enough against the weather, even more so against the sickness of men but the hobbit has no such natural protection. Even her slight elvish blood will help her against sickness (the cold, not so much).

Sighing in pity, she pulls at the ties of her cloak and pulls it off her back. She folds it so the inside stays as dry as possible as she trots up to Bilbo’s side. Her hands let the reigns drop but continues the pace. Leaning in the saddle, Gailien opens the cloak back up behind the hobbit, tugging it around his shoulders.

Bilbo shakes his head, not wanting the woman to lose her own protection against the weather. Nor does he want to feel any more like baggage than he already does. He needs to prove his own.

“No-no. Thank you, but I’m fine,” he protests but Gailien takes nothing from his words, tying the strings up around his neck. The rain hits her more than before, soaking her back and legs.

“You look like you need it more than I do, Bilbo,” she says, smiling warmly through the rain. Droplets hang from her nose and chin as her hair sticks to her face. “It will keep you warm as well as dry.” She would know, already feeling the cold air and water rippling across her skin. Goosebumps rise, making her hair stand on end but it is almost invisible to see through the rain.

Bilbo resigns, already feeling slightly warmer. He pulls the hood up over his head. “Thank you,” he tells her sheepishly.

Gailien nods at his gratitude and goes to say something more but her words get caught in her throat. Her eyes glaze over, not focusing on anything in the present. Her grip on the reins doesn’t falter but her balance does, having no sense of the place she is physically in for her mind is somewhere in the future.

Not being able to balance, even with stiff limbs, she slides off the side of the saddle. Her body slumps in the mud, coating her clothes as the rain continues to pelt her other side. Bilbo gasps, pulling his pony to a stop, halting the ones behind him as well.

His words stumble for a moment. “G-uh. Ah, T-Thorin!” The King, hearing his name called in a panic quickly halts his pony and the other half of the company. “It’s Gailien, she’s fallen!”

Fili, who was riding behind Bilbo has already dismounted. He trudges through the mud, kneeling down beside the girl. Her eyes are open, not moving from a spot in front of her. Thorin kneels down on the other side of her, tapping her cheek as Bilbo watches them from his pony.

“She’s seeing something, uncle,” Fili observes. Thorin chews his tongue, thinking about his options. He can not wait for the girl to come around. They need to continue on, and this is no place to stop.

“Get her back on her horse,” he orders. Fili frowns, glancing at his uncle.

“Are you sure. I don’t know if it’s safe to move her,” he argues. Thorin looks over his shoulder to the grey wizard, waiting for his input. Thorin, however much dislike he has for the woman, is not going to go out of his way to bring her harm. 

“She will be fine,” Gandalf says, nodding to the King. “There is no danger in moving her.”

Thorin nods to his nephew, silently confirming his order. Fili clenches his jaw, not feeling good about moving her but he has no choice and if they wizard says it is fine, then Fili trusts his judgement. Gandalf has known Gailien for longer than all of them after all.

Fili scoops the girls up and out of the mud, struggling as her body is stiff rather than limp and placid. It makes it harder for the dwarf to move her around, but he manages, placing her stomach over the saddle. Ensuring she is secure enough, he mounts his own pony, holding both his and her reigns to lead her pony.

Thorin who is already back in his own saddle waits for his nephew to finish then renews the company’s movement. A few dwarves spare looks at the girl as Fili holds her pony close in case she starts to slip again. Kili rides up on her other side, nodding to his brother in a silent acknowledgement to help.

After a few minutes pass, Gailien at last is able to bring her mind into the present. She grunts in disorientation, grasping the edge of the saddle. Her breathing becomes escalated at what she has just seen. It was no random image.

“You alright?”

Gailien lifts her head to find Kili’s concerned gaze meeting her own. She nods, pushing herself up to an upright seat in the saddle. She searches for the reigns, finding them in the older brother’s hands. She takes them back, giving Fili and appreciative smile but it does not stay on her lips for long.

“Yes, I’m fine but I need to speak with Thorin.”

One side of her body feels icky and heavy, covered in mud but luckily the rain is still heavy enough that it begins to wash off. She canters up the side of the company all the way up to Gandalf and Thorin who are naturally in the lead.

“Gailien, what is that you saw?” Gandalf inquires as the horse’s hoofs slush in the mud, making her entrance rather noisy. Thorin waits for her to speak but he has an inkling that he will not like the words to leave her lips. Her eyes dart around to him and Gandalf, her cheeks rosy and her posture in disarray.

“I saw…Trolls,” she stammers out. “Mountain trolls.” She knows how unbelievable it sounds, considering trolls are found nowhere near their intended path, not with how south they are travelling. Thorin huffs, also thinking the same thing.

“This far from Ettenmoors?” He objects. “Not likely.”

Gandalf is not so quick as the dismiss their Seer’s foretelling. She is not yet powerful enough to see much beyond her own path. That is why she has had to accompany them after all, and not just provide counsel in passing. If she has seen trolls, they are on a possible path that will meet with them.

“What exactly did you see?” he presses. Thorin doesn’t argue, listening.

Gailien’s brows furrow as she remembers everything that passes through her mind just minutes ago. “They…they were travelling down. They made camp in the open, but I think they had a cave nearby.”

“When is this supposed to come by?” Thorin asks. Maybe it is foolish of him to put her knowledge aside so quickly. However, Gailien isn’t able to give him the answer he needs or wants.

“I don’t know,” she answers quietly. Her fingers fiddle with the reigns. “I’m not shown when these things come to pass, only that there is a possibility of them doing so.”

“And the company? Did you seem them with the dwarves?”

“...No”

That is enough for Thorin, in his mind, to fully dismiss it. He needn’t worry for trolls do not venture this far south as he had mentioned earlier, and the woman has no idea if it will be in two hours or two months. Then to add that she had not seen the company near the trolls – why, it a useless foretelling for him.

“Then I do not believe we should worry,” he declares. His words are not harsh, but Gailien can’t help but feel a short stab in her chest. She is worrying. Gandalf also shares her views.

“We shall keep an eye out for any sign of trolls,” the wizard says, sparing a pointed look at the Dwarf King. Thorin nods, more so to satisfy the wizard and Seer so that they will not pester him any further.

Gailien observes that she is no longer needed, or likely welcome at the lead of the company and resigns back to the single file that the rest of the company has fallen into. She runs the vision through her mind again, hoping something else that is useful will make itself clear. Her intentions are not to prove Thorin wrong, but to prove her own usefulness besides a weather report.

“You look a little distraught, lass.”

Her chin lifts as she falls in line with Bofur who talks to her loudly to be heard over the rain. Her eyebrow quirks for a moment with a pathetic laugh escaping from her lips. So, she looks exactly how she feels then.

“Just hate being wet,” she replies, seeing no need to worry the other members of the company if their leader is not. She will not be the cause of argument. Cupping her hand to the sky, a small puddle of water forms in her palm and fingers. She lowers it to her neck, splashing it over and begins to rub her skin. The mud mixes, creating a water mixture that washes off with ease.

“Here, Mr Gandalf?” Dori who is riding in front of Gailien and Bofur speaks up. “Can’t you do something about the deluge?” A puff of her blows out of her nose. If only, she wishes.

“It is raining, master dwarf. And it will continue to rain until the rain is done!” Gandalf declares. “If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard.”

Bilbo, though is slightly warmer than the rest of those around him, still wishes for nothing more at this moment than to be in Bag End near a warm fire. “Are there any?” he asks.

“What?”

“Other wizards?”

Bofur tries once again to smoke his pipe but the rain just continues to soak the thing. He sulks, stashing the pipe back away under his coat.

“There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman, The White. Then there are two blue wizards.” He pauses for a moment in thought. Gandalf has not spoken or heard about the two blue wizards that he has almost forgotten about their existence. “Do you know, I’ve quite forgotten their names.”

Gailien listens with interest, loving tales from the mouths of others. She would love to read books but travelling light means that there is often not enough space in her pack to keep any. Back in Mirkwood, she was often found in the library through the middle of the night reading books on war history. The servants had been distraught knowing that the girl was reading things with such gruesome details.

“And who is the fifth?” Bilbo asks, hunching over slightly to cover himself even more from the rain.

“Well, that would be Radagast, the Brown,” Gandalf answers. Thorin’s ears twitch at the familiar name. They will be crossing paths with another wizard? He supposes that is not an entirely dreadful thing to happen. As long as he doesn’t intend to prevent them from continuing.

Without thinking about his next words, or maybe he does but just does not care, Bilbo asks “Is he a great wizard or is he…more like you?” 

Gailien barely manages to stifle her laughter, ending in a choking cough instead. Bofur snorts from beside her and even Thorin up ahead has a twitch in his lips from the hobbit’s words. Bilbo is oblivious to the reaction his question elicits and awaits an answer from the wizard who is grumbling offendedly.

“I think he’s a very great wizard, in his own way. He’s a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forestlands to the East. And a good thing too, for always evil will look to find a foothold in this world.”

Gailien, much like Bilbo, can’t stop the next words coming out of her mouth. She is completely aware of their offence though. “Radagast is my favourite wizard,” she declares loudly so Gandalf has no trouble hearing her. Her tone implies that she is speaking to the company in general, but her words are aimed at Gandalf. Of course, Radagast is definitely not her favourite out of the two wizards she has met but Gandalf’s reaction is worth it. He scowls at her with narrowing eyes over his shoulder. Thorin, though it is hidden from the company, cannot help but break into a small fit of laughter under his breath.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Until Sunrise

As they ride, the rain begins to slow until it reaches a complete stop. The sun is able to poke back through the clouds, cloaking them in beautiful golden rays of light every now and then. Gailien smiles in content, pleased that she is once again, able to enjoy the scenery around her and also able to hear more than shouting voices trying to be heard over the rain.

By the time of the afternoon, the clouds have all but disappeared. Gailien shifts in her saddle from the discomfort of sitting all day. Maybe a cleaner ride will not make her ache as so, but the rain turned the ground into sludge and the pony jostled around much more than normal.

They ride up a small incline and Thorin turns his pony around.

“We’ll camp here for the night,” he declares. “Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them.”

Gailien beams, sliding out of the saddle gratefully. “Yallume!” she cries, stretching out her body. The pony, Clove, bites her side for nothing else but for the sake of biting. Huffing, she hands the pony over to Fili, wishing him luck with the animal’s attitude.

Gandalf walks up further into the ruins of an old farm. The foundations are barely standing, and it may as well not have a roof at all as the wood has rotted away, leaving large gaps in the shelter. Gailien supposed that King does not intend to use it for a shelter anyways.

“A farmer and his family used to live here,” the wizard says, more to himself than the company but Gailien has made her way and is close enough to hear it.

“Oin, Gloin.”

“Aye?”

“Get a fire going.”

“How long ago, Mithrandir?” Gailien questions, trying to gain a clue from the stage of rotting on the wood, which is only being held up by stones. Gandalf glances around darkly as he turns to talk to Thorin who is walking away from camp towards the wizard and Seer.

“Not long enough for it to be dismissed,” Gandalf notes to the Seer. She looks once more over the remains of the house before turning her attention to Thorin. “I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the hidden valley.”

So, Gandalf intends to take the dwarves to the elves. Gailien holds a snort, knowing that it would never happen with Thorin alive, not knowingly anyway. She herself hasn’t been to Rivendell in many years but she has no desire to visit it again, no matter how beautiful it may be compared to Mirkwood.

“But I’ve told you already. I will not go near that place,” Thorin declares, walking straight past Gailien and the wizard.

“Why not?” Gandalf presses, following the dwarf. Gailien trails behind slowly. “The elves could help us, we could get food, rest, advice.”

Thorin does not even entertain the idea. It is bad enough in his mind that he has let an elf on this quest in the first place. The only reason he has done so is for the fact that she could provide them with assistance that he does not see fit to deny (though, ironically, he already has), and her un-elvish like features have swayed his thoughts.

“I do not need their advice,” Thorin states, stopping in his tracks to face the duo. Gailien is not sure which side she should choose to support but ultimately decides to keep her mouth closed.

“We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us,” Gandalf persists. Thorin looks at Gailien, gesturing to her slightly.

“Can she not read the map?” he suggests. Gailien shakes her head quickly.

“I’ve already seen the language; it is not something they teach. At least, in Mirkwood, they do not.” She glances up at Gandalf then risks making eye contact with the King, knowing her next words are likely not going to do her good. “Maybe Gandalf is right about Elrond. I don’t doubt that he would be able to help us.”

“Help?” Thorin shakes his head, resting his left palms against the hilt of his sword. “A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the elves looked on and did nothing!” He steps closer to the pair, reaffirming his words. “You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather, who betrayed my father?”

“You are neither of them. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past,” Gandalf argues, his anger growing as the words start to leave his mouth in a hasty spit. But Thorin retorts just as swiftly as Gandalf.

“I did not know they were yours to keep.”

Gandalf shakes his head softly and ends the argument. He turns, walking down through the camp, sulking at the stubbornness of dwarves. At least, one in particular. Bilbo, who is patting Balin’s dwarf notices the wizard walking hastily through.

“Everything alright?” he questions. “Gandalf, where are you going?”

“To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense,” he grumbles, not stopping as he passes through all of the onlooking dwarves.

“And who’s that?”

“Myself, mister Baggins!” he cries. “I’ve had enough dwarves for one day.”

Gailien sighs from her spot still on the foundation of the rotting house, shaking her head.

“Come one Bombur,” Thorin says from next to her. “We’re hungry.”

Gailien follows Thorin back down to camp, also feeling the hunger grow in her stomach. Dwarves are hardy, meant to not feel the same hunger as man or elves, so if they are hungry, then she and Bilbo Baggins, certainly are.

“He quite likes his dramatics,” she says aloud. Not to any dwarf or hobbit in particular but Thorin so happens to be the only one close enough to listen. “Gandalf, I mean.”

Thorin eyes her. Something in the way she said that makes him think that she has known Gandalf far longer than the rest of them. “How long have you known him?”

Gailien shrugs, tilting her head slightly to the left to do the math in her head. She had met him in Rivendell when she was passing through there. Not by choice, but her food ration had run out a few days before and it was the closest place at that time. “About two hundred years or so,” she answers. She turns her body to the King, biting her lip. “I am truly sorry. About the actions of elves against your kin.”

Thorin clenches his jaw, not turning to face the girl but he glances at her from the side of his eye. “Were you there, the day the dragon attacked?”

Gailien doesn’t know what he wants her answer to be, but she has nothing but the truth to offer him. “No, I was not. I was in Gondor at that time.” She doesn’t know if that answer pleases him or not as he walks away without giving her any reaction.

Gailien wants nothing but acceptance from him. Her intentions are true and honourable, yet he continues to disdain her so. Maybe so, but she still has a kindling of friendship with his nephews that she has no intention of letting die out.

The only woman in the company helps Bombur make the stew. The dwarf is quite insistent on doing it alone, as it is his job, but she makes do with helping to cut the meat, leaving the rest to the dwarf. Once it is ready to be served, she grabs two bowls.

Dwalin and Thorin are locked in their own conversation on the edge of the camp, oblivious that dinner is ready and has been called for. She intended for one bowl to be her own, but she can also get another.

Sauntering over, the two dwarves stop their conversation as Dwalin notices the girl approaching. She smiles coyly, holding out the bowls. Gailien is very aware that their conversation has come to a halt in her presence.

“Sorry, I just thought you both would like some dinner.”

Dwalin reaches for the bowl first, Thorin mimicking slowly after. The warrior dwarf sends her a nod of gratitude. “Thank you, lass.” Her smile grows a little bolder, even though Thorin does not say anything and she turns away back to camp.

Dwalin watches her go, trailing his gaze on her limp. Thorin also notices, frowning. “Is she injured?” he asks Dwalin. His concern grows, recalling her fall from the horse earlier. Dwalin shakes his head.

“Nay,” he denies. “Said it was an old injury. Had it back at the Shire as well. She assured me it wouldn’t slow us down.”

Thorin narrows his eyes before bringing them off the girl entirely, though the conversation’s topic does not stray far. “I’ll be the judge of that.” Dwalin huffs in agreement. “Do you think we should trust her?”

Dwalin takes a bite of his stew, contently chewing through the juicy meat. Nobody can deny that Bombur is the best of all them all. “Look.” He sighs, glancing quickly back over to the camp. “I hate elves just as much as you do but I think she’s different from her kind.”

“All elves are the same,” Thorin argues, his eyes darkening. “Why should she be any different?”

“I don’t know,” Dwalin resigns. “But not only has she not argued against our cause, but she is here willingly. She doesn’t exclude herself from the camp and your nephews have taken a liking to her.”

Thorin contemplates Dwalin’s words. He trusts the warrior, his friend, but his doubts still grow. His begins eating his own stew, pushing the elf-girl from his thoughts.

Gailien settles down next to Bilbo since Fili and Kili are off with the ponies. She finishes her dinner rather quickly, feeling famished from the day of riding.

“Do you think he is going to come back?” Bilbo asks her. His bowl sits in his lap, finished but he is not hungry for any more as he usually would be. Gailien nods, fiddling around with her spoon.

“Yes, Bilbo. Gandalf is just tired and needs time to think,” she explains, offering him a warm but short-lasting smile. “Even if we leave, he will catch up with us.”

Soon, the camp is covered in darkness and most of the dwarves have eaten, except the two brothers. Bofur must have the same trail of thought as he comes over with two bowls, handing them to the hobbit.

"Here, do us a favour, take this to the lads.” Bilbo takes the bowl, scurrying off as Bombur tries to help himself to the leftovers. “Stop it, you’ve had plenty.”

Gailien finds herself alone as her main companions have all found themselves occupied by other means and her bravery has not yet built up enough to bring herself to talk to the other dwarves. Perhaps Balin would provide her with some company. Her eyes survey the camp, the mixture of dwarves blending in. Dwalin and Thorin still talk together, though they have moved closer to the camp.

Balin is sitting next to Nori, a dwarf that she doesn’t mind but is not yet set in a firm opinion of. Taking the chance, she leaves her spot near the fire, cautiously dodging around the other dwarves who pay her no mind.

“Evening, Balin, Nori,” she greets, putting on her warmest smile. Her heart stops in the moment that it takes them to react. Nori glances up at her, barely offering any sort of welcome. But Balin, bless him, greets her back with the same smile.

“Gailien. Come, sit.” Gailien takes a seat on the log next to the white-haired dwarf. Nori’s face does not change, and at this point, Gailien will take that as a good sign. “Nori and I were just discussing the Shire. It is a beautiful, quiet place, is it not?”

Gailien nods hastily and without lie. “Yes, I spent the day there wandering Hobbiton. I would love to travel to the other Farthings as well but Hobbiton is the most well-known village in the Shire. Hobbit’s are extraordinary creatures.” Gailien realises that is beginning to ramble but Balin has started a topic she loves but has not had the chance to discuss with another person before. “I met a Took once, in Bree. Completely different from the rest of the Hobbit families. I also met a Gamgee, but I only stayed for tea so I can’t tell you much about them.”

Balin and Nori listen with wide ears and eyes, frankly astonished that the quiet girl is freely talking so much. Maybe quiet is not the right word to describe her, perhaps, reserved is better suited. “You have been to the Shire before then?” he questions, wanting to keep the girl open for her own sake.

“Yes,” she answers. “Many years ago, but I never forgot it. In fact, it is probably one of my favourite places in Middle Earth. So, you can imagine when Gandalf told me the meeting would be in Hobbiton, I was surprised but pleased.”

Balin asks her more questions, dragging the conversation onwards and even Nori finds himself putting something towards it. The topic doesn’t stray far from the hobbits and eventually it circles back until they laugh in recollection of Bilbo’s expressions when they opened the door.

Her beaming, tightly pulled cheeks drop as she realises that Bilbo is not yet back from giving the dwarf princes their meals. There is always the chance that the hobbit has just stayed to give them company but something inside her forces her to stand from the log.

“I’m just going to check on Bilbo,” she murmurs to the two dwarves, but they don’t take much notice, laughing to themselves. Her hands pat her side subtle, reassuring herself that her blades are in place. The rest of camp is in the same state, with full bellies and ready for sleep, not noticing the missing hobbit or Gailien walking into the darkness.

Her eyes provide her with a little advantage as she steps over branches and small trenches in the ground. The forest is eerie at night, yet oddly peaceful. Gailien supposes that growing up in Mirkwood would have her used to trees constantly hanging over her. At least these ones don’t reek with sickness. It used to be called Greenwood until the power of Sauron overrun the land many years ago and the forest grew darker and darker. Evil creatures lurk, and if you dare stray off the path, then there is not a god you could pray to for help.

But this is no forest, just land with some trees. A large toppled over tree. The old wood has been pulled from the ground by brute force, not by old rotting of age. Something big. Gailien stares at the tree, her feet slowly moving her around it as she tries to figure out what her mind is dying to tell her. The thought hits harder than an iron arrowhead to the heart.

Trolls.

Her gaze darts back into the night, feverishly scanning for either a dwarf or hobbit. There is no sign of them near so she ducks, keeping her feet as light as she can on the ground and hunts the lost members of the company down.

In the near distance, she can hear a voice, three distinctively, but also awfully unfamiliar. The growing pit in her stomach grows as she fears her vision earlier that day is coming true. She follows the sound, a light from a campfire illuminating the trees, and two crouching figures behind them.

Fili and Kili are kneeling down, hidden from the camp but are watching it intently. Gailien holds a sigh of relief at the unharmed state as she is still missing one person. Keeping even more quiet and low than before, she hurries next to them. Kili and Fili do not hear her until she is at their ankles, crawling up behind the same tree.

Their mouths open as they try to think of what to say to address their new company, but the words fall short. The woman is quite aware of their state of secrecy so saying ‘hello’ would be too odd for the situation. But what else could they say; that they sent their burglar into a troll camp?

“Where’s Bilbo?” she hisses, looking around for the hobbit. The trolls camp is just ahead, only a tilted body away. Kili bites his lip, watching the troll camp carefully.

“Ah, at the moment, with the trolls,” he answers reluctantly. It had been his and Fili’s idea, but they are now seeing that is was probably a mistake, rooted in their want to not disappoint their uncle.

Gailien’s eyes widen as she finally looks towards the troll camp. There, surrounding a fire are tree mountain trolls. Hideous, with large curved noses and beige skin that wrinkles. The sight of them makes her glad for her neat complexion and the hair on her head. She glares at Kili then to Fili on her other side. “You sent him into the troll camp?” she hisses, knowing the trolls are too stupid and loud to hear her but that is a risk she does not want to take. If only Thorin had listened to her. “Why did you send him into the troll camp?”

Fili swallows thickly, wincing. “They stole some of the ponies,” he tries to explain in his and his brother’s defence. “We thought that since Bilbo is small and quiet that he could sneak in there and release them.”

Gailien peers at the camp again, noticing the ponies in a small enclosure behind them. Bilbo slowly moves into her view, between the middle and troll on the right. “You better be right,” she grunts under her breath. To run in their now would be a death sentence, and Bilbo has yet to be caught.

The trolls dote over their brewing dinner, but the two dwarf princes and the elf-girl spend their attention on the movements of the hobbit. He seems to be trying to go for the long knife on the middle troll’s waistband. Gailien begins to contemplate sneaking in there but her lack of elvish traits means that her footwork is nowhere near as stealthy as a hobbit or elf. If they have any chance of succeeding, it will be with Bilbo.

Bilbo disappears behind the middle troll, making Gailien grip the bark of the tree as her heart beats faster. Kili and Fili’s breathing has also increased.

“Me guts are grumbling, I’ve got to snaffle something. Flesh. I need flesh!” one of the other trolls declares. He stands, making a move for the ponies. The middle troll that is blocking Bilbo from view reaches behind him. Gailien’s eyes near pop out of her head as instead of whatever the troll is intending on grasping, Bilbo Baggins is in his hold. The oblivious troll sneezes, blowing mucus all over the poor hobbit.

“Aah! Blimey! Bert!” the troll exclaims as Bilbo lies in his hand, covering with the horrid substance. “Bert, look what’s come out of me hooter! It’s got arms and legs and everything!” The three trolls circle around the outstretched hand holding Bilbo in the air who is much to of a shock and daze to react right away.

“What is it?” Bert asks.

Gailien grasps Fili’s jacket, forcing him to look at her. “Get the company,” she hisses to him, not caring is she comes across as bossy. She should have done so herself the moment that she realised what is going on. Fili nods, scurrying back off into the darkness as he also realises that there is now no other choice. Kili looks to Gailien who gives him a brief glance, waiting for her to give him instructions as well. In the troll camp, Bilbo has finally managed to speak, declaring himself a ‘burglar-hobbit’ and has fallen out of the troll’s hold. He ducks under a large fist trying to scoop him back up. “Just wait a moment, we need the company,” she says to the dwarf next to her as his impatience grows.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” he protests as Bilbo continues to avoid the trolls’ grasps. Gailien agrees, wanting nothing more than to run out herself but they have to wait for the company’s support. Bilbo is finally caught, being handles by his legs and the blood rushes to his head.

“Gotcha! Are there any more of you little fellas hiding where you shouldn’t?” the original middle troll questions.

“No!” Bilbo squawks, his arms flailing about as he tries to find another way to escape.

“He’s lying,” the cross-eyed troll gurgles, even his voice matching his disgusting nature. The ball of Gailien’s foot digs into the ground, scuffing against the dirt. She slowly pulls her blades from their holsters. Kili takes notice of her moves, copying it with his own sword. They silently move around the camp to attack from a vantage point, whether the company arrives or not.

“I’m not!” Bilbo denies but his words no longer do him much good.

“Hold his toes over the fire. Make him squeal!”

Kili runs out first, bursting from the bush with his sword raised high already. The sharp edge of his blade cuts through the leg of the cross-eyes troll who squeals in pain, lifting his leg to him. Only a moment behind, Gailien emerges, falling to her knees to glide under the large creature. Her twin blades are held out on either side of her as she slides, striking the troll on either leg.

The troll squeals, even more, falling against a rock near where they came from. Pushing herself back to her knees, she stands with Kili, holding her blades out and ready for an attack.

“Drop him!” Kili commands, his chest heaving as the adrenaline starts to pump through his veins in anticipation. The other two trolls are stunned by the new arrival.

“You what?” the one holding Bilbo asks. Deaf as well as stupid, Gailien observes.

“You have our hobbit,” she says, smirking mirthlessly as her blades twirl around in her hands for effect. “And we’d like him back.”

An animalistic growl, that belongs more to a four-legged beast than a troll leaves the throat of the largest troll and he tosses Bilbo through the air. There isn’t much time to think or prepare for the incoming hobbit who is flying towards them but Kili reacts quicker than she does. And thankfully, Bilbo flies straight towards the young prince who opens his arms to catch the hobbit.

At the same time, Thorin, leading the company storms into the trolls’ camp. The dwarves brandish their weapons high and in ready of an attack. Their entrance distracts Gailien for a moment but hastily rights herself, her fingers tightening around the grips of her short swords. A battle cry passes her lips as she runs forward in line with the dwarves.

There is no real strategy to the fight as the dwarves attack the closest troll, aiming at wherever they can reach. Gailien strikes at them, sometimes cutting them, earning her a squeal of pain and sometimes not. A dwarf flies through the air but lands softly enough that they get themselves right back into battle.

Surprisingly, it is not a troll fist or foot that comes her way, but the blade of an axe. She drops to the ground, feeling a brush of wind against the top of her head. Her forearms scrap against the ground but she pushes herself back to her feet in less than a moment. Thorin stands near her, the axe that was just nearly responsible for taking off her head in his hands, though this time, swinging at a troll leg.

“Do I look like a troll?” she asks loudly, swinging again at the same troll as Thorin but on the other foot. Thorin rolls his eyes, grunting as his axe embeds in the troll’s leg.

“It’s hard to tell in the dark,” he responds. Gailien doesn’t know is he is taunting for humorous purpose or out of spite, but she doesn’t have the time to spend questioning it as large grimy fingers lock around her waist. A mixture of a grunt and yelp leaves her lips as her feet leave the ground, pulling her into the air. The fingers have locked her arms against her sides, leaving her utterly defenceless.

A dwarven figure flies through the air, their sword in front of them, slicing down through the arm holding her up. The troll screams, his grip loosening and she finally falls to the ground free. Her gaze follows the dwarf that freed her, finding the blonde hair of Fili who is already looking at her.

“Thanks.” She gives him a toothy smile, engaging back into battle. Another troll holds Dwalin in the same way it had her, so she jumps onto the large stone on the edge of the camp, pushing off it. Her body soars through the air blissfully until it ends abruptly as her body collides with the troll’s arm. Using one hand to hold her up, her other brings the short sword high, driving it straight into the tender flesh between the thumb and pointer.

Dwalin is dropped back to the ground, picking up his lost weapon and Gailien lets herself slide off as well, landing next to the warrior. She begins to move forward to fight but the other two trolls are already occupied. Bilbo is being held in the air, both his arms and legs being held by the two trolls.

The dwarves stop fighting but Kili runs forward. “Bilbo!” Thorin holds a hand in front of Kili, holding his nephew in place but they still hold their weapons high and ready for attack. Gailien falters, like Kili, wanting to run forward past Thorin but the trolls have gotten the upper hand. If only she had kept an eye on him.

“Lay down your arms!” the fat one orders. “Or we’ll rip his off!”

Bilbo watches the company intensely. Would they really surrender to save his life? He isn’t quite sure if Thorin would do such a thing just to save his hide. Slobber still covers his face, his hair wet and sticking together and he breathes heavily. Gailien watches Thorin intently, as he is their leader and hers from the moment she signed that contract.

Thorin grumbles, lowering the point of his sword down, digging it into the ground. One by one, the dwarves let their weapons fall and Kili throws his with a sulky temperament. Gailien lets hers slip from her fingers, falling to the ground quietly as she stands next to Dwalin, behind Thorin. Even Dori throws his slingshot in anger, an unusual look for the typical boyish nature of the young dwarf. 

“Looks like we’re having dwarf,” Tom says, grinning which shows his rotting and half missing teeth.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: The Blame Game

Gailien stands near Fili and Kili as the trolls begin plucking the dwarves one by one from their group. The cross-eyed one still holds Bilbo as leverage and the fatter one kicks all of their weapons out of reach, leaving them with nothing to protect themselves except their wits. But how do you reason with half-wits like trolls?

You don’t.

Gailien doesn’t realise it but as Ori who is standing in front of her is grabbed next, his hands and feet being tied up in a strong twine, her own hand grasps Fili’s jacket. Fili does notice but makes no move to pull away. It seems silly, just standing and waiting to be taken by the trolls, watching the other company members being sacked up. But there is nothing they can do just yet that would not result in the death of the burglar that Gailien has grown fond of in this short time. Kili is taken next, putting up a verbal fight, even spitting at one of them. Gailien can feel Fili shift next to her as his brother is tied up. Soon, even Fili is taken, leaving Gailien with the second half of the company.

Unlike the others who are tied up and put in burlap sacks, the second half are stripped of their over clothes, leaving the dwarves in their undergarments and Gailien in her blouse and pants. Her jacket is the only other thing taken from her as she does not wear as many layers. Their hands are tied together but their feet are left untouched. They are set up in two sort-of circles, their backs facing the middle. Another rope is wrapped around them but stays loose.

Until a large skewer is placed in the middle of them and the rope tightens holding them to it. Gailien is on the bottom group, tied to the skewer that they put over the fire. Dwalin’s legs digging into her shoulders as he is tied up above her. The skewer spins around, her view constantly changing from the night sky, to the other dwarves, to the fire, then finally to the trolls and sky again.

Her sides are squished up against her from both the rope and the other dwarves unfortunate enough to end up in the same place as her. The heat of the fire is low until they start adding logs, the flames licking the air higher until her front begins to ache at the heat every time she faces it.

Along with the others, she wriggles around, trying to find any sort of escape now that Bilbo has also been put with the dwarves on the ground. At least Thorin and his nephews have a greater chance of survival than she does at this moment. Although if she is to die here, she would rather not have Dwalin constantly digging her heels into her as she is cooked – just another uncomfortable inconvenience that she would rather avoid if possible.

She grumbles to herself as she spins, glaring at Thorin. She had warned him, and he had not listened. And look where it got them. But her glare softens as she finds Thorin watching her and the rest of his company with nothing but anger and concern mixing on his face.

“Hey!” The cross-eyed one points his finger at Gailien as she turns in front of the trolls. “This one doesn’t look like a dwarf or a burglar-hobbit.” His finger moves forward, poking Gailien in the chest. Gailien kicks her feet against her hold.

“Sevig thû úan,” she spits. The troll jumps back in shock.

“What did she say?” he asks the other who shrugs. He turns to his other companion. “She said some words, but I couldn’t understand them.” He leans forward, his neck stretching forward as Gailien makes a full circle, coming back up to face them. “Say it again,” the troll demands.

“Pedin i phith in aníron, a nin ú-cheniathog,” she says this time with just as much hate as before. The troll moves back again, shoving another accusing finger at her but at least this one does not poke her chest.

“She did it again!” he cries out.

“Leave her alone!” Kili sits up from his spot on the ground, only his head visible through the brown food sack he’s been shoved in. The trolls peer down at the dwarf but Kili doesn’t back down.

“Maybe he knows what she said,” the troll with the apron says as he turns the trolls on the spit. They are quite literally, being roasted like pigs. Gailien appreciates the young prince standing up for her, but this is probably not the best time for useless titbits of courage such as this. Their energy needs to be spent on conjuring an escape plan.

“Ah! Just ignore them,” the fattest one says. “A forget cooking ‘em. Let’s just sit on ‘em and squash ‘em into jelly!”

“They should be sautéed and grilled with a sprinkle of sage,” the other one argues – something they seem to do a lot of. Perhaps their arguing could cause a delay in their cooking.

“Oh, that does sound quite nice,” the fat one agrees. The third, ugliest one growls.

“Never mind the seasoning, we ain’t got all night! Dawn ain’t far away, let’s get a move on! I don’t fancy been turned to stone.”

Bilbo’s eyes widen as the trolls have just provided him with a piece of information that can potentially save the dwarves lives and end their own. He sits up, balancing so he can stand on his feet. He bounces away from the dwarves who watch him intently. Gailien however, is thinking the same thing but has yet to come up with a good idea for them to argue over.

“Wait!” Bilbo cries. “You are making a terrible mistake.” Gailien remains silent, watching Bilbo until she is turned out of view and she strains her senses to listen in. Bilbo is not a weapon-wielding sort of creature, but he does have his wits about him and if he has a plan, well, it will do them more good than harm.

“You can’t reason with them, they’re half-wits!” Dori cries out.

Bofur, who is next to Gailien on the spit exclaims “half-wits? What does that make us?” Gailien holds back any sort of sarcastic remark, figuring that is she gets out of this alive, she will have plenty of time to insult them later.

Bilbo jumps forward along the ground, still in his sack. “I meant with the…uh, with the…with the seasoning,” he says. One of the trolls near the spit steps forward, bending over to peer at Bilbo closer. Bilbo’s confidence grows as his plan starts to unfold itself.

“What about the seasoning?” the troll questions in a low raspy growl.

Bilbo leans forward, like an action taken if you wish to gossip with someone while the topic of conversation is nearby. “Well, have you smelt them?” He gestures to the dwarves on the ground with his head. “You’re gonna need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up!” His words come out insulting like he is disgusted by the dwarves himself. Gailien’s face begins to brighten.

“You clever hobbit,” she beams to herself. She coughs, preparing her voice to be heard. “May I suggest some mint! Or perhaps some rosemary. They have a lovely aroma to mask the smell.” Bilbo internally grins that at least one other person has caught onto his ploy. As long as the trolls don’t, he might be able to stall them until sunrise.

The dwarves are just as slow as the trolls. Kili frowns, throwing insults that are lost into the air as his brother kicks around grunting at his restraints. The other dwarves are just as bad, as they believe their two non-dwarf companions are betraying them.

“What do you know about cooking dwarf?” the troll names William questions as he continues turning half of the dwarves and Gailien on the spit. She’s beginning to feel mighty uncomfortable now and she finds it hard to imagine how the others are who have a much greater surface area to be heated.

Bilbo opens his mouth but the other troll, Bert leans down, interested in what the small hairy creature has to offer. “Shut up, and let the…uh, flurgerbubur-hobbit talk.”

Bilbo gives Bert a quick appreciative smile as he stumbles over his next words. “Uh…the- the secret to cooking dwarf, is um…” he trails off as his mind finds nothing. Bert becomes impatient.

“Yes? Come on.”

“It’s, uh…”

“Tell us the secret!”

“Ye-yes, I’m telling you,” Bilbo hurries as ideas fly through his head faster than he can latch onto them and make sense. “The secret is…to…” He screws his face shut as something finally makes its way to his tongue. “…To skin them first!”

Once again, the dwarves cry in outrage. “Tom, get me the filleting knife.”

“Oi, but what does this other one think?!” Tom squirms, pointing a figure at Gailien. “She said something about rosemary.” Gailien comes back around the spit again, facing Bilbo and the other dwarves on the ground who are throwing the girl and Bilbo accusing looks.

“Uh, oh, uh yes,” Gailien stammers. “Yes! You should skin them, but you want to have the seasoning ready, so their smell doesn’t ruin their taste!” Even more insults – which is almost now a tradition, are thrown her way as she spins away from them. Dwalin’s feet dig even more so into her shoulders but Gailien knows the Dwalin is very aware of his doing.

“What a load of rubbish!” William growls. “I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on. Scoff ‘em I say, boots and all!”

Bilbo and Gailien’s efforts start to fall apart as the trolls start to lose interest in their cooking classes. They can both see the sun ever so slightly beginning to rise over the horizon. The trolls are sure to turn to stone now, but whether they are in the troll’s stomachs or alive is a whole other matter to be discovered.

“He’s right! Nothing wrong with a bit o’ raw dwarf.” He walks over to the stack of sacked dwarf, picking up the largest – Bombur – and removes the sack around him. Tom holds Bombur high over his head, his bright red beard looping down towards the ground. Gailien panics, her mouth running before her brain.

“Not him!” she squeals, hoping her panic comes off as a concern for the trolls’ wellbeing. Tom pauses, lowering the dwarf slightly, searching him over. The dwarves become quite confused: first, she was telling the trolls how to cook them, now she is stopping them from eating the dwarves? Whose side are they on?

“Why not?” he grunts.

“They’re...” Her eyes close briefly, searching her brain. “…Infected!”

Bilbo gasps, his hand rising but is stopped by the sack. “Yes,” he cries. “He’s got worms in his…tubes.” Tom throws Bombur back down to the ground, squishing Fili under his massive weight. Gailien winces as she sees the young prince grunt in pain under him. They have something – and they need to keeping playing at it until the sun rises. “In-in fact, they all have. They’re infested with parasites, it’s a terrible business, I wouldn’t risk it, I really wouldn’t.”

Gailien would applaud the hobbit is she could. But the other dwarves still are not on the same page as the two. “Parasites? Did he say parasites?” Oin exclaims! Kili gapes with offence. The trolls don’t respond, not taking the hobbit’s or Elf’s words anymore.

“Yeah, we don’t have parasites!” Kili looks between Bilbo and Gailien. “You both have parasites!” The dwarves yell in agreement. Gailien rolls her eyes as Dwalin’s voice roars above her. Bilbo sighs as his cause is all but lost.

“Yes, Kili! I do have parasites!” She yells to him as she turns under the fire. “In fact, I’m riddled with them!” She can only hope that her tone is enough for him, or any other dwarf for that matter to catch on to. It really isn’t a difficult concept. It isn’t Kili that catches on, but Thorin who has been mostly silent through the night, seething to himself. He brings his foot up then back down on Kili’s shoulder. Kili and the other dwarves nearby go silent as they look to their leader. Thorin gives them a look but remains silent. Kili and Oin realise first (well second) and finally join in on Bilbo and Gailien’s idea.

“I’ve got parasites as big as my arm!” Gloin cries out.

“Mine are the biggest parasites,” Kili exclaims. “I’ve got huge parasites!” If Gailien wasn’t in such a dangerous situation, she would have laughed out loud in both relief and the comical nature of the dwarves’ change of attitude. They start calling out their own parasites as the trolls begin to grow worried.

“We’re riddled!”

“Yes, I’m riddled!”

“Yes, we are, badly!”

William, the seemingly smartest of the three trolls struts forward to Bilbo. “What would you have us do then? Let ‘em all go?”

Bilbo tilts his head, deciding whether or not to push his luck. “Well…” William pokes poor Bilbo in the stomach and Gailien growls, wanting nothing more than to smack his hand away. Or stick a sword through it.

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to. This little ferret is taking us for fools?” Gailien glances at the sky as the colours of sunrise paint the once dark blue canvas above them. The trolls are no longer playing their games, but they only need a little longer. Moments.

“Ferret?” Bilbo huffs slightly offended at the animal comparison.

“Fools? Tom questions.

Gandalf, their lost companion has finally returned and found them at the troll camp. He leaves them for one night… “The dawn will take you all!” He appears on a large rock on the outer skirts of the camp, wielding his staff in the air.

“Who’s that?”

“No idea.”

“Can we eat him too?

Gandalf slams his staff into the rock, creating a straight slip down the middle and one side tumbles to the ground, letting the rising sunlight shower over the trolls. Gailien squints as the sun hits her eyes for the first time in hours but it is nothing compared to what the trolls face in the sunlight. They squawk, shrivelling, and sizzle. Every part of their body that the light touches turn to stone, taking over their body until they are nothing more than stones statues in the shape of trolls.

Bilbo squints, trying to see Gandalf through the light. He can’t believe it worked, he cannot believe that they survived the night in the hands of trolls. The dwarves cheer joyfully, and even Thorin manages to give one of his rare smiles. Gailien sees the smile which causes her own to grow wider until Dwalin’s foot hits a nerve in her shoulder.

“Ow-Dwalin” she cries. “Will you get your foot out of my shoulder!”

“Sorry lass,” the warrior dwarf grunts, also feeling somebody else boot in his back.

Gandalf joins the company on the ground as the sacked dwarves untie themselves, shredding their captivity. The second half of the company has to wait as they are still tied up in thick ropes, spinning slightly over the fire. Gandalf puts out the fire and the ground dwarves kick away the hot logs, leaving a sandy pit below them. Gandalf, being the tallest, uses a sword to cut on of the ropes holding them to the spit.

Gailien is one of the luckier ones to drop down first. She grunts as her back lands on another dwarf. Bofur is the unlucky soul who not only hit the ground but had Gailien’s weight dropped on him.

“Oi, get off me!” he squawks, shoving the girl off him. Gailien willingly rolls off to the side, landing on the dirt with her forearms and knees. She laughs, brushing herself off as she stands.

“Sorry, Bofur.” As an apology, she drops her hand down and Bofur takes her offer, using her as an anchor to heave himself up. And just in time too, as the rest of the dwarves on the spit are cut loose, landing on the ground in a heap. Someone slaps her back and she turns around to find Fili, accompanied by his brother.

“Thought we were about to be troll dinner,” Fili grins. It seems the dwarves are able to easily forget the seriousness of events quickly as all of them are still in their typical joyful moods, except perhaps Thorin but even then, he seems in a better mood. Gailien nods with an incredulous laugh.

“Took you long enough to catch on,” she says, rounding off her sore shoulders. It feels as though Dwalin was standing on her shoulders. His boots must be made of steel. Kili and Fili shrug, not embarrassed by their earlier disbelief and Gailien doesn’t argue.

“Just for the record,” Kili says, leaning in. “I don’t have parasites.” Fili snorts, shaking his head as he wanders off to pick up his lost knives. Gailien also shakes her head, putting an arm around the young prince’s shoulders.

“I’m sure you don’t. But if you did, you’d definitely have the biggest,” she responds, following Fili’s lead to their weapon’s pile. Kili grins proudly, though she isn’t sure why that is something to be proud of. Many dwarves have already retrieved their weapons, leaving her two short blades easy to find, and she puts them back in her belt sheaths. Fili is still picking up his large number of knives, putting them in hidden spots as Kili picks up his sword. He must have left his bow at the camp.

Now without the heat of the fire, Gailien feels the slight chill in the air and she remembers that she has lost her jacket. The clothes pile is nearby, and she walks over to it, sorting through the few remaining pieces but they belong to Bofur and Dwalin who are still untangling themselves from the rope. Her jacket is missing. Frowning, she stands back up, looking out over the company in case anybody has taken it accidentally. They wouldn’t fit into it as it is a small and fitted make and would realise that soon enough.

“Here.”

Gailien spins on her heels as Thorin speaks behind her. He holds out something made of dark leather. Her jacket. Her mouth opens in surprise, reaching out to take it from Thorin. There is still the hint of a smile on his face

“Thanks,” she says, pulling the jacket on. Thorin nods, pleased that she is unharmed like the rest of the company and walks past her towards Gandalf who stands amongst the trolls. She joins in with the dwarves, helping them regain themselves again. She laughs with Ori as he describes what he would have done if his hands were not tied.

“-And I would have shot him in the eye!” he tells the group loudly. Gailien grins at the dwarf’s courage. She believes she has judged him wrong – maybe not a warrior in appearance, but a warrior at heart.

“I told you our burglar would be useful,” Kili says, reappearing by her side. “Didn’t I Fili?” Fili tilts his head, holding his laugh at his brother’s antics. Gailien’s nose blows out with the large puff of air she pushes from her lungs.

“I think he’s got more brains the both of you combined,” she responds but keeps the smile on her face to show them her playful demeanour.

“Hang on!” Gloin exclaims, gaining the attention of the surrounding dwarves. He points a stubby finger at Gailien, catching her attention. “Aren’t you supposed to prevent things like this from happening?!” Gailien’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. Thorin and Gandalf have returned from their talk, just in time to see the interaction. What is she supposed to say? “Didn’t you see this in one of those visions of yours?” Gloin presses with her lack of an answer.

Gailien fumbles. If she is to say no, then their trust in her would almost diminish – whatever trust she had built is little in the first place. And not to mention she would be lying. She had seen it and informed Thorin. But if she is to admit that she did, that Thorin knew of the threat and has done nothing to prevent it, would they see that as their leader recklessly endangering them? She doesn’t want their trust in Thorin to falter, especially knowing that Thorin did have a decent enough reason to dismiss her claims. She hadn’t seen the dwarves with the trolls and not to mention, it was an uncanny chance to find them this far from their home.

The dwarves look at her, quietly waiting for an answer. She shifts through eyes as they seem to pierce her until she finds Thorin’s. He watches her intently, thinking through the exact same scenario as Gailien is. She had warned him. Gailien can’t stand the thought of Thorin receiving the backlash for this, or the look Kili and Fili’s eyes.

Sighing, she finally answers. “No, I did not.”

Gloin growls, his finger jabbing at her. “What even is the point of having you if you can’t even see something like this happening!” A few dwarves grunt in agreement and Gailien’s heart thumps in her chest while her stomach growls. Fili frowns, knowing that Gailien has been able to see things, but even she had said that she cannot force visions to appear. He places a hand on the girl’s back, glaring slightly at the other dwarves.

“It’s her fault!”

“She could predict rain but not this?!”

“Don’t listen to them,” he says to her quietly. Kili nods, hooking his arm with hers.

“Yeah, they don’t know what they’re talking about. Besides, it’s not like we nearly died or anything,” Kili says in an attempt to lighten the mood. If Gailien truly hadn’t seen the vision, she would not have found it funny at all, but knowing that it is not entirely her fault she can’t help but let out a small giggle.

“Of course. We had it all under control, didn’t we?” she cheeks, looking between the two brothers on either side of her as they walk back to their camp.

Thorin and Gandalf watch the girl leave with the brothers. While some of the company members lose faith in the girl and her abilities, Thorin’s respect just blasted through the roof. He isn’t foolish – he knows exactly why Gailien denied seeing anything. When he locked eyes, he could see the thoughts as though they were painted in her eyes. He refuses to let himself feel guilty, but he would thank her later, if not in words than actions.

Besides, they have a troll cave to find.

(Translations:

Sevig thû úan – You smell like a monster

Pedin i phith in aníron, a nin ú-cheniathog – I can say what I wish, and you won’t understand me.)


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: The Blades

Gailien can feel their annoyance, pulsating through the air until it reaches her. Particularly, from Oin and Nori. Though they do not say anything more, they don’t hold back their beady eyes if she ever crosses their vision. She has never been so thankful for the two dwarf princes who stuck by her side from the moment they leave the troll camp. Even Bofur offers her a kind remark as he passes.

They collect their belongings from their camp that they did not get to spend the night in. The dwarves are barely tired from the lack of sleep – an advantage of the hardiness of dwarves, but Bilbo and Gailien haven’t such luxury and lines of tiredness start creasing in their skin.

“We’re looking for a troll cave,” Thorin informs the company. They spread out over the area but stay close enough that you can see at least half of the other dwarves. They all have senses better than that of humans, though Gailien has a slight advantage over them in this retrospect. She lets her nose do the leading.

She starts off near the princes and Bilbo who also seems to find comfort in their company – and Gailien hopes he finds it with her as well. As they travel forward, Gailien trails after a particular smell which leads her across the spread of dwarves until she finds herself walking near Thorin.

Thorin is scouring the land, coming near a large rock formation. He notices Gailien closing in. “Can you see something?” he asks, taking note of her concentrated features. She is clinging to something. Gailien shakes her head, tossing her now loose hair over her shoulders.

“No. Smell,” she corrects. She starts walking in front of the King, who stops to let her pass him. He watches her intently, noticing how her face shifts suddenly. “Oh, that is vile!” Gailien shrivels her nose, holding the crook of her elbow to it in hopes to block out the smell that has become almost toxic at this proximity.

“What is it?” Thorin questions, jogging up closer. As he shares the same air, he also is gifted with the foul smell. There, at the bottom of the rock is an entrance to a cave. “I think we found our cave.” He turns around, signalling to the rest. “Over here!”

They wait in silence until the rest of the company arrives. Gailien finally gains to courage to remove her arm from her nose now that the smell isn’t such a strong shock to her senses. She watches in slight humour as the other dwarves are also hit with the pungent smell.

“Oh, that smells worse than the toilet after Dwalin uses it!” Balin exclaims, sending his brother a teasing wink. Dwalin huffs hoarsely, giving his brother a soft nudge with his battle-axe. Gandalf leads the group into the cave, followed by Gailien then Thorin. Gailien makes a subtle face to herself, making a mental note to stay away from Dwalin’s ‘spots’.

“Oh, what’s that stench?!” Bofur cries as he is one of the last to arrive.

“It’s a troll hoard,” Gandalf answers. “Be careful what you touch.”

The cave is dark, and the air is heavy from a lack of circulation, but at least the entrance has allowed air to travel or she fears that it may have been unbearable. Gandalf has used the right description, as the place is certainly a hoard. Gailien has to watch her feet as to not step on anything.

There are coins spilt on the ground, jewels and other trinkets. Gailien takes interest in a beautiful tiara, silver but with dark red jewels decorating it softly. It has been sitting for quite some time, covered in thick webs of dust but its beauty is clear even now. Her hand extends out, wanting the honour of holding such a delicate beauty but the clanging of metal breaks her trance. Her hand drops to her side. She has no use for such a thing, and it only takes up space in her bag. 

The source of the clanging belongs to three dwarves, including Bofur who have dug a small pit in the ground. They fill one of the chests with gold and jewels until it is well overflowing. Gailien smiles in disbelief but leaves them to it without comment.

Dwalin stands in the middle of the cave, his arms crossed, and his eyes are not drawn to anything in particular. Gailien walks past him. “What is your poison, if not treasure and gold Master Dwalin?” she asks with one side of her lips pulled in a teasing smile. Dwalin has been one dwarf that had not yet sent her scathing looks. He smirks, shifting his weight onto his left foot.

“Ale, food, and dwarven women,” he answers with a small smirk. Gailien laughs, which rings through the cave. She nods in appreciation of his honest answer. “Nothing for you in here either?” Dwalin hasn’t failed to notice that she carries nothing more than she did entering.

“No,” she answers, looking around again. “Nothing worth the extra weight.” Gailien moves on, finding her path leading to Thorin and Gandalf. Thorin notices a sword in the barrel, pulling it out. Gailien recognises the make immediately, for the fine craftsmanship is unforgettable once seen. Thorin pulls out a second as Gandalf takes the first from Thorin’s hand.

Gandalf pulls the blade partially from his sheathe, revealing the expertly made blade. “There swords were not made by any troll,” Thorin concludes. He doesn’t recognise the owner of the craftsmanship, but he does appreciate their make. A much finer blade than the one he currently carries.

“Nor were they made by any smith among men,” Gandalf states. Gailien comes to stand between them. Her hand reaches out to the blade in Thorin’s hands. Not to take it from him as he is expecting, but just to let her fingers trail only its handle softly.

“These were forged in the First Age by the High Elves,” Gailien explains to him. “In Gondolin if I remember correctly.” Gandalf nods, confirming her appraisal. Thorin’s appreciative eyes darken as the source of their make comes to light. He begins to place the blade back in the barrel that he found it, but a hand latches onto his elbow. His head snaps to the girl. “This is a fine weapon, Thorin. Much to nice to belong in a troll hoard.”

Thorin clenches his jaw in thought as the girl’s arm retreats, letting him make the decision for himself. He pulls the blade from the sheathe, and Gailien watches him. As much as Thorin does not wish to admit it, the blade is much too fine to ignore, even if it is made by the elves.

“Why don’t you take it?” he asks Gailien. He holds the re-sheathed sword up a little, as though offering for her to take it but the question is more theoretical. Gailien eyes it, tempted but it wouldn’t make sense. The blade is slightly curved, runes engraved delicately, and the hilt is smooth yet built in a way that ensures a strong grip.

“I prefer my own weapons,” she says, placing her hands on her waist where they sit. “And besides, that sword belongs to a King.” She turns on her heels, retreating back to the dwarf princes who are playing with something they have found.

“Let’s get out of this foul place,” Thorin declares. “Come on, let’s go. Bofur, Gloin, Nori.” The three dwarves stand up from the spot where they have hastily dug a spot for their treasure like a squirrel hiding its nuts. Gailien spots the thing the princes are playing with.

“That’s an elven rope,” she admires. The boys look to then to the thin rope. “From Lothlorien.”

“It looks like it would snap at any second,” Kili snorts. The rope does indeed look like even Bilbo could break through it but Gailien should be one to know that looks are not everything.

“You should take it,” she suggests. “You might find it comes in handy.” Fili, the one holding the rope nods, taking any advice the girl offers him since she has yet to fail with it. He shoves it into a pocket in his jacket. Not wanting to be left behind, the three follow the rest of the dwarves out, leaving only Gandalf to trail behind them.

Finally, back in the fresh air of the open, Gailien breathes deeply, letting her head tip back as the sun swallows her face. She cannot stand being so covered and in a dark place such as a cave troll. Or a mine – how the dwarves do it, she’ll never know. The dwarves spread out, sitting back down as they put anything they have collected away.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf calls, holding a small sword that he picked up off the ground. Bilbo walks over and Gandalf holds to sword down towards the hobbit. “This looks about your size.”

Bilbo looks at the weapon hesitantly but takes the weapon. Gailien walks over quietly, wanting to see the blade for herself. Bilbo shakes his head, trying to hand it back to the wizard. “I can’t take this.” Gailien stands next to Gandalf looking at the sword. Well, a sword is probably the wrong label. It is more of a dagger to anybody of human height. It is even shorter than her twin blades, though they are full size.

“The blade is of Elvish make, which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby,” Gandalf explains. Bilbo looks over his shoulder then glances quickly and shyly at the girl.

“I have…I have never used a sword in my life,” he says quietly, almost sounding ashamed but Gailien recognises it as fear.

“And I hope you never have to,” Gandalf responds. “But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.” Bilbo swallows but holds the blade closer to him in acceptance of carrying it. Gandalf pats his shoulder, walking away back to the company’s leader.

Gailien smiles kindly at the hobbit. She is glad that they have found a weapon for their hobbit, as his wits will not always save him, but she knows his hesitation in using something he has never had to before. “I can teach you to use it,” she offers to Bilbo. “When we have the time, I have an inkling you are a fast learner anyway.”

Bilbo nods, smiling as much as he can and Gailien notices the wobbly lips. “I would like that,” he answers. Gailien nods, settling their agreement.

“Something’s coming!” Thorin runs from behind them, coming to stand near Gailien. Her ears prick, trying to sense anything nearby. Had Thorin seen or heard something?

“Stay together!” Gandalf commands, as though trying to keep a collection of baby ducklings with its mother. “Hurry, now! Arm yourselves!” Gailien draws her weapon, following after Thorin past Bilbo in the direction that Gandalf leads. She does not get far before faltering as Bilbo has still not caught up.

“Bilbo!”

The hobbit has distracted himself, inspecting his new weapon and doesn’t hear his name called. But he feels a hand grab at his jacket, tugging him off his spot. Once Gailien is sure Bilbo is following on his own, she releases his jacket, keeping her pace to stay behind him. Now she can hear something, and she wonders why Thorin noticed before her. Perhaps he was paying more attention.

The dwarves close in on one spot around a path as the sound of whatever is coming is closer than before. She can hear multiple feet thumping the ground, dragging something heavy and it snaps branches and bushes. Her swords are held at the ready, standing next to Fili, still behind Bilbo.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!”

The dwarves nearly jump from their skin, including Bilbo who courageously holds his new weapon in front of him. Gailien sighs in relief audibly, dropping her weapons low. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Kili about to load his bow.

“No! Stop!” Gailien cries, stepping forward, brushing past the hobbit and stands in front of their new company. The dwarves halt, an arrow loaded in Kili’s bow but the string remains loose at his fingers. Gailien smiles, holding her hands up. “This is Radagast,” she says.

Radagast has made his way to them speedily on his sled, led by multiple rabbits that Gailien knows not to be the ordinary kind. Like usual, Radagast is dressed in clothes riddled with the mess of nature. Thorin sheathes his new sword – which Gailien takes notice that is the elven blade.

“This is the Brown wizard?” he asks, peering at the man over the girl’s shoulder. “The one from your vision?” Gailien nods, excited that she can show one of her visions coming true to the company, even if it is just a visit from the wizard.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Gandalf questions in suspicion the Brown wizard, also sheathing his new weapon. Radagast steps off his sled, walking close to Gandalf, his eyes just as mad as ever. Gailien steps away to Kili’s side who is closest to her.

“I was looking for you, Gandalf,” he replies. “Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.”

“Yes?”

Radagast holds up a finger, opening his mouth to say something but stops. He starts the movement before stopping again oddly. “Just give me a minute.” Bilbo and the company (including Gailien) watch him with wide eyes, wondering what on earth is happening. He whines, dropping his hands and posture. “Oh, I had and thought and now I’ve lost it. It was…it was right there, on the tip of my tongue!” He gestures to his tongue as if not speaking metaphorically. “Oh!” he opens his mouth with a rounded tongue. “It’s not a thought at all! It’s a silly old…“ Gandalf reaches up, pulling a small stick insect from the Brown Wizard’s mouth. Gailien gags and even Kili revolts slightly. He looks to Gailien by his side, glad that she is just as revolted as him. Even Thorin can’t help but gape. “…stick insect,” he finishes.

“Sit down for a while,” Gandalf tells the company. “I need to have a talk with Radagast.”

They do so, sitting back down on the rocks between the mossy green trees. She sits down with Kili, joined by Fili. Kili sits on a rock just above them, inspecting his arrowheads while Fili and Gailien share a rock. “He’s a bit of an odd fellow, isn’t he?” Fili asks, laughing at the ridiculous nature of the Brown Wizard. Gailien cannot help but snort unladylike in agreement.

“You can say that again.” Using one of the swords, she occupies herself but cutting symbols into the moss. “Did either of you take anything besides the rope?” Fili smirks proudly, opening his jacket and pulls out two shiny knives. Smaller than Bilbo’s, obviously meant for concealment and short-range but still just as deadly, and of elven make. “Those are beautiful,” she admires, leaning forward to read the Elvish inscription.

“What do they say?” the older prince questions, noticing the words himself.

She grins, reading the first one. “Beleg Emel.”

Fili frowns at the elvish. “What does that mean?”

“Mighty Heart,” she translates. She finds it quite fitting for the dwarf prince but keeps that observation to herself. “The other says Nifred, which just means fear.

“I love the elvish language,” Kili says, his legs swinging off the higher rock. He wants to hear more of it come from her mouth. It is enchanting and foreign, the opposite of the dwarvish language which they keep secret. Gailien cocks her head up with a curious smile.

“Do you? I could teach you some if you would like,” she offers. She had no idea that Kili would be interested in such a thing. Kili grins, nodding and goes to answer but a heavy hand lays on Gailien’s shoulder, taking her attention from the young dwarf. Her head spins back around but stays tilted to look up. Thorin stands next to her, keeping his hand on her shoulder as he looms over her. She is fully encased by his shadow.

“Can you hear what they are talking about?” he asks. His voice is low, almost a growl. Thorin loathes being left out of a conversation that he deems important and Gailien’s slightly elvish ears may be able to help him.

Gailien frowns, concentrating on the two wizards. They talk quietly, so much so that it is hard for her to pick up on much, but a few words do cross her ears. Necromancers, swords, ghost. This is not a conversation she feels comfortable listening in to. She shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry they are talking too quietly,” she lies. If it is important to the quest, Gandalf will inform them himself.

Thorin nods in understanding. She is so little like an elf that her hearing must be more human than anything else. His hand drops from her shoulder. His mouth opens to address his nephews, but instead of his voice, a loud howl sings through the air. Gailien feels shivers coursing through her body.

“Was that a wolf?” Bilbo questions anxiously as he turns around. “Are there…are there wolves out there?” Gailien stands, towering over Thorin as the rock below her gives her a height advantage. Her eyes scan the environment but there are many trees and other things for these ‘wolves’ to hide behind.

“Wolves? No, that is not a wolf,” Bofur denies, gripping his pickaxe tightly up near his chest. As most of the company look towards the way they came, a warg slowly creeps up on them from behind. It growls and the company turns.

The warg jumps from its ledge with agility and its paws land on Dori’s shoulders. Dori falls to the ground with the large beast’s weight holding him there but Thorin reacts the quickest, using his new blade and thrusts it into its neck. The warg’s cries are cut short as it dies quickly.

Gailien hears another from behind her and she turns at the same time that Kili shoots an arrow over her shoulder. She feels the wind from the arrow, lifting a few light hairs on her hair that are loose as it hits home, landing in the warg’s shoulder. The warg cries in pain, skidding along the ground. It knocks into the tree to her side but still lives, snapping its jaws around, aiming for Thorin who is the closest.

Gailien jumps forward, plunging one of her twin blades into its neck, and the other through its eye, ensuring the finality of its fight. “Warg scouts,” Thorin growls loudly, taking his sword back from the warg’s neck. “Which means an orc pack is not far behind!”

Gailien clenches her jaws, looking around as though the orc pack may be surrounding them at this very moment. She hates orcs – loathes them. She wishes she could have foreseen this but if they are being hunted, there is not much they could have done to throw them off their trail.

Bilbo’s eyes are wide as he tries to make sense of what is happening around him. Orcs and wargs – they are the monsters in children’s tales but Bilbo is very aware that they exist. “Orc pack?” he exclaims, his small heart beating hard against his chest. The new sword (dagger) at his side now feels heavy, knowing that he may be using it sooner than he wishes to. 

“Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?” Gandalf demands. Thorin looks almost offended at the accusation.

“No one,” he answers but Gandalf does not yet believe his answer.

“Who did you tell?!”

“No one I swear!” Gandalf huffs, his weight constantly shifting as he prepares to move. Thorin steps forward to the wizard and Gailien also moves forward, not wanting to be on the edge of the company. “What is Durin’s name is going on?”

Gailien, as selfish as the thought is at this moment, is glad that Thorin is showing no doubts about her loyalty or ability to hold secrecy. No accusations at her or Bilbo and that gives her a small spark of pleasure in her stomach. But it dies as quickly as it came. Gailien walks past Thorin, coming to stand by Bilbo’s side. She places her hand on his back, below the neck – her offer of support to the hobbit who looks terribly frightened. Gailien isn’t sure how much it helps.

“You’re being hunted,” Gandalf answers solemnly. That does raise the notion that somehow, the orcs have heard wind and are nearing on them.

“We have to get out here,” Dwalin grunts and Gailien fully agrees. Ori and Bifur – who Gailien hadn’t realised left, run back over a small hill.

“We can’t,” Ori cries. “We have no ponies. They bolted.” Another warg cry sounds not from nearby and Bilbo walks off somewhere, leaving Gailien to drop her hand. Her toes start scrunching under her boots knowing that they will be running shortly. Dwarves are natural sprinters but Gailien…well her limp isn’t much help when it comes to running. But she has promised Dwalin that she wouldn’t slow them down, that she could keep up.

“I’ll draw them off,” Radagast declares. Gandalf turns to the other wizard.

“These are Gundabad wargs. They will outrun you!” Gandalf argues but Radagast doesn’t lose confidence. His thumb points over his shoulder at the rabbits still tied up to the sled.

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits,” he states smoothly. “I’d like to see them try.”


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Chase

Wasting no time, Radagast mounts back on his sled and Gailien can hear the wargs party closing in, just near the edge of the foliage where their only source of cover is. Radagasts’ Rhosgobel rabbits are unnaturally fast animals and Gailien watches in slight wonder as the Brown Wizard rides away, quicker than he had come.

The Orc pack latches their attention onto the wizard, turning their tracks to follow him. The dwarves exit the foliage at a different point, leading them into the open plain which only offers them rocks as cover. Gailien starts off in the middle of the group with Bilbo and Fili as they follow Gandalf.

The Wizard hushes us behind a rock, peeking out over its edge and while Gailien cannot see it, she can hear Radagast and the Orc pack not far off, still on the sled’s tail. Gandalf ushers the company in the opposite direction. Gailien runs - or tries to run. It isn’t that she cannot perform the action of running but her strides are uneven to begin with and the rocky terrain makes it even harder for her legs to remain balanced. Slowly, her pace is outdone by the dwarves around her and though she is trying her best, Gailien is nearing the end of the company.

In front of her, the company comes to a stop, letting her regain lost ground. It is not a break to catch their breaths though as they stop in the open. On the horizon, Radagast is still being chased by the orc pack, leading them straight across their intended path.

“Move!” Thorin orders, his hand gesturing in the air with his sword. Not waiting to be told twice, and now at the lead, Gailien starts running again in the opposite direction. Now with a good idea of the footwork needed, her pace keeps steadier than before, but the Dwarves still start taking over in speed with Thorin in the lead.

They run in a direction slightly off course from the way they came, their only destination being safety. Gailien silently thanks whatever elf blood she holds as her breathing remains steady and there is little tire in her muscles yet.

Thorin stops once again as the orcs have moved across their new path. Ori, not noticing the leaders halt keeps running, only stopped by Thorin holding out his arm. “Ori, no!” He pulls the younger dwarf back under the cover of the rock. “Get back!”

Gailien and the dwarves wait behind the rock as Thorin and Gandalf stay near the edge, waiting for the hunting party to pass once again. At the end, Gailien rests her back against the rock, trying to use her hearing to determine where their enemy are but the sounds are spread out, giving no distinct location. Then her eyes glaze over and a different image appears before her.

Determining the orcs have moved somewhere else, Thorin and Gandalf order the dwarves to move on. Thorin waits for the entire company to pass him, both ensuring they have everybody and wanting to interrogate Gandalf.

“All of you, come on, come on!” Gandalf orders quietly. “Quick!”

Thorin glares at the wizard but doesn’t take his eye off the company passing him, taking a mental note of who has and hasn’t yet. “Where are you leading us?” he demands. He is not foolish, Thorin knows that Gandalf has a destination in mind and if his suspicions are right, he does not like it. Gandalf only looks at Thorin silently, which in the King’s mind, is a confirmation.

They are about to move on but Thorin realises that still one of his members hasn’t come past him. He looks over the company that has, making sure he hasn’t missed her but alas, her small figure isn’t amongst them. Cursing under his breath, Thorin sprints back around the rock but his pace doesn’t stay long.

Gailien is still leaning up against the rock, her head and eyes set forward. “Gailien,” he hisses. Gailien doesn’t hear him, still locked in her vision. Thorin curses again, sprinting the rest of the distance between them. His anger grows and his mind can’t help but seethe at her timing. Not wanting to put too much distance between the company and himself, Thorin bends slightly, locking his arms behind her knees and hauls her over his left shoulder. Her upper half dangles stiffly over his back and her legs are locked to his front with his left arm, leaving his right still free to wield his weapon.

He catches up to the rest of the company quickly enough, grunting under the extra weight but he is grateful for her small build. Once again, Gandalf orders them to press against a large rock formation as he sees one orc and warg stray from the pack towards their direction. The orc unsheathes his sword, circling the rock while still riding.

Thorin turns slightly to his youngest nephew Kili who has been watching Gailien with concern as she is perched on his uncle’s back. With his eyes, Thorin gestures to Kili’s bow. Kili silently pulls an arrow from his quiver, loading it. He steps out from the cover the rock provides, aiming his bow up at the warg standing above them.

The arrow is quickly released, finding a new home in the warg’s shoulder. Thorin and some of the company lookup as it continues to squeal and Kili load another, shooting its other side. The warg stumbles from the pain, sending it, and its rider off the side of the rock. Gailien wakes at this moment, her eyes blinking rapidly to try and make sense of what she has seen, and now what is in front of her.

The orc squaws, jumping off his mount and runs towards the dwarves. Gailien realises that she is on somebody’s shoulder and leans up. Thorin, feeling her move, lets go of her legs and Gailien falls to the side on the ground.

Dwalin runs out first to meet the orc, followed by Bifur. Now free of the extra luggage, Thorin joins in, supported by Kili with his bow and they take down both the warg and the orc. But at a price.

Gailien runs forward to Gandalf who is looking out onto the horizon. “They are going to have heard that,” she hisses, trying to see the orc party for herself. While the dwarves have taken out one enemy – a necessary action, the orc and his ride’s cries will have no doubt, alerted the others to their location. Gailien sees them now, small figures moving over the plain faster than they can run.

“We need to move!” she yells, running back to the company. They have no cover now and Gailien stays with Bilbo who has miraculously been able to keep up with little issues. As they sprint, Kili matches her pace.

“What did you see?” he asks loudly to be heard over the wind brushing past their ears as they sprint. Gailien doesn’t answer but looks to Thorin up ahead. Kili follows her gaze. Gailien wonders if he will listen to her this time.

They continue running until they reach the top of a small incline, allowing them to see into the distance further. “There they are!” Gloin exclaims, pointing at the moving party. They change their direction slightly, running back down a hill and the dwarves spread out slightly over the plain. Gailien sticks with Thorin, her instincts telling her that she needs to be for this is almost exactly where her vision took place.

Two orcs riding wargs leap into view and Thorin grunts in surprise, faltering back. Gailien unsheathes her weapons, holding them in front of her as she moves to stand at his side. Kili runs towards his uncle from another direction. “There’s more coming!” he yells.

Thorin turns in circles as the company becomes surrounded. “Kili!”

Gailien darts her eyes around, taking in the positions of a select few members that she wants to keep an eye on. Fili is not far off to her right with Bofur, and Kili is behind her, and Bilbo is in the middle closest to her. “Thorin!” The King turns his head to her acknowledging he is listening but does not answer. “You need to listen to Gandalf,” she says. “We need to follow him when he says to.”

Thorin clenches his jaw but he listens. He had ignored her with the trolls, and they paid the price. But at this time, he would rather face the orcs than the Elves. Gailien lets out a short, strangled cry to herself when Thorin doesn’t answer her. Again, he doesn’t listen to her but what she has seen is not something she can let come to pass. She must make him change his mind.

Fili runs closer to the company as the orcs and wargs encircle them, closing ranks. “We’re surrounded!” Kili shoots one of the wargs, taking down its rider. The dwarves come together, closing their own ranks. Fili runs in next to Gailien, and they nod to each other – a silent confirmation of the other’s wellbeing. “Where’s Gandalf?” the prince asks, not seeing the grey robes near them.

“He’s abandoned us!” Dwalin accuses ferociously. But Gailien knows different, she just does not find the need to say it out loud as they would find out themselves. One quite frankly hideous (in Gailien’s opinion) orc rides slowly towards them as if knowing that they don’t have anywhere to go. Ori – bless his heart – uses his slingshot against it. The rock bounces off the warg’s head, not even faltering its steady steps.

“Hold your ground!” Thorin commands, unsheathing his new elven blade. Gailien can’t help but admire how majestic the King and his sword look together. Bilbo even has his new sword (dagger) ready and Gailien knows that if her vision comes to pass, she will have to keep a heavy eye on the hobbit as well as the King.

“This way you fools!” Gandalf calls out to them. He has found a passageway that would offer them some sort of refuge. Thorin glances over his shoulder but just knows that Gandalf is leading them to the Elves. A few of the dwarves follow Gandalf down whatever rabbit hole he is leading them through, but others wait for their leader to acknowledge the new path. Dwalin, the two princes, Bilbo, Gailien and two other dwarves stay out.

The wargs and their riders are far to close for Gailien’s liking and their movements replicate the one in her vision. “Thorin!” She steps backwards until her shoulder lines up with the King’s but facing his six. “You have to follow Gandalf.” Thorin shows no sign on listening to her, but inside Thorin is fighting himself. He trusts her, he really does. “Please,” she begs.

The tone of her voice sends him over. “Move!” The remainder of the company follows his lead towards the rabbit hole. Gailien could cry in relief as she has changed the fate of the King and joins in. But first, she runs forward pulling Kili back way as he tries to keep shooting. Thorin stands at the entrance, making sure that he is the last person out there.

Dwalin, Balin, Fili, Bilbo. Gandalf counts them as they come sliding down ungracefully. Thorin slashes a warg without a master, killing it efficiently. He notices that Gailien is struggling to pull back his nephew who is still trying to shoot them. “Kili!”

Listening to his uncle, Kili turns and lets Gailien tug him along. In the short time they are running, their positions swap and her grip on him forces her to keep up as her limp worsens. Kili in turn, reaches back out, gripping her arm. It doesn’t hurt per se, but her legs tire easier than normal.

They slide in together. Gailien spins from the momentum down the short steep decline. She is grateful that her twin blades are tucked safely at her side for if they were in her hands, she surely would have cut herself. They land at the bottom in a heap, followed by Thorin who slides down with envious grace. A hand latches on hers and Kili’s arm, pulling them up. The two are met with Fili who pulls them out of the way of Thorin’s landing strip. The Dwarves huddle around the edge of the cave, bending down out of sight as the orc pack surrounds their location. Gailien knows that Thorin wouldn’t have come down without knowing the entire company is here, but it doesn’t stop Gailien search the faces, looking for the Hobbit. Once she sees his safe and unharmed, she relaxes her shoulders.

A horn resonates, coming from above them on the ground. Gailien knows exactly what the sound belongs to and her thoughts are confirmed as the company hear fighting above. They move back into the middle where they have a small window to look out of, catching glimpses of the action.

Out of nowhere, an orc body rolls down the entrance and once again, Fili’s arms pull both her and his brother out of the way as the heavy form tumbles where they stand. Dwalin and Gandalf poke it with their axe and staff respectively but the thing is well past its moment of death.

Thorin strides forward, pulling the arrow from its neck. Only a quick inspection is required for his suspicions to once again be confirmed. “Elves,” he spits, tossing the arrowhead away. Gailien does feel slightly guilty for practically forcing him to follow Gandalf but the other path was unthinkable. She doesn’t miss the glare that Thorin sends to both her and Gandalf. He still doesn’t trust her she thinks.

Dwalin walks down the pathway that is their only option besides finding a way to climb back up. Though, they do now have that elven rope. “I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or not?” he calls back.

Bofur, not Thorin or Gandalf is the first to respond. “We follow it, of course!” the dwarf replies, eager to get away from whatever remains out there. The dwarves, Gailien, and Bilbo follow Dwalin’s trail. If her guess is right, this is possible a secret path to Rivendell where she knows that Gandalf wishes for them to go. She cannot say she is overly pleased to go back, but with their packs lost, they do need to replenish their lost food. And she could do with another cloak since hers was in her bag which they left on the bolted ponies.

Thorin reluctantly goes along as Gandalf offhandedly remarks, “I think that would be wise.”

The passageway thins, becoming a slightly struggle for some of the dwarves – Bombur – but the high walls are not covered by a roof. Gailien takes comfort in the open sky as the walls close in on her, barely seeing more than two dwarves in front as it twists and turns.

But finally, the path ends with a few short stairs, opening up onto a ledge. Gailien smiles softly, looking out over Rivendell as the dwarves marvel at the sight. Nobody - except the stubborn– can deny its beauty and even Gailien feels herself missing the place slightly. Bilbo, the last to come out besides Gandalf almost feels his jaw slacken. The beauty of Rivendell is enchanting at minimum, but one dwarf does not find pleasure at seeing it.

Gailien almost feels as though she should apologise to Thorin, but she holds herself, knowing there is nothing to apologise for. She saved his life.

“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf says, quite pleased with himself. “In the common tongue, it’s known by another name.”

Bilbo still stuck in his state of marvel answers the unasked question. “Rivendell.”

“Here lies the last homely house, east of the sea,” Gandalf finishes. Thorin stalks up to the wizard with accusing eyes.

“This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy,” he declares. Gailien cannot help but feel the small pang. Does Thorin still think her an enemy as well? She distracts herself, smiling at the brothers who glance at her between their gazes on Rivendell.

“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself,” Gandalf counters. And while a true enough point, Thorin has other reasons to not be near the Elves.

“You think the Elves will give our quest their blessings?” he demands rhetorically. Bilbo who is listening in cannot help but hope that Thorin will allow them to go. “They will try and stop us.” At this, Gailien cannot help but turn and join the conversation her ears have been finely tuned into. Neither Thorin nor Gandalf is surprised that she has been listening.

“Of course, they will try and stop us,” she snorts in an unladylike manner, sauntering up the steps. “Are you really going to let a few snobby Elves get in the way?” She gives Thorin a somewhat risky, teasing eye. “I thought Dwarves were stubborn and strong-willed.” Gandalf sees what thoughts run through both of their minds as even Thorin has a glint of mirth at the suggestion. He begins to debate whether she has Dwarvish blood, but her slightly pointed ears remind him that her other half is still Elvish.

“Ah, yes, Gailien is right,” Gandalf stammers. “But we have questions that need answers.” Thorin sighs, braking his gaze. “And if we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm.” He gives both a pointed look, for exactly the same reason. But Gailien’s mouth is running faster than her brain now that they are in safety.

“Gandalf, I’m honoured,” she mocks, placing a hand on her chest. Gandalf glares at her, not on the same page as her humour.

“I meant me,” he retorts then marches past them. Gailien rolls her eyes but is pleased enough with the Grey Wizard’s reaction. Thorin has to bite his cheek but he keeps his smile at bay.

“Worth a shot,” she mutters to the King, bouncing down the steps.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Books and Elves

The dwarves follow Gandalf and Gailien (who seems to be the most comfortable out of all of them besides Gandalf) down the long narrow path. The stone is bright, reflecting the sun and underneath is a chasm but even that doesn’t look scary. Though, it does not stop Gailien from watching her step and keeping to the middle.

Gailien also can’t help thinking to herself that if they have to come to the Elves for help, she is grateful that it is Lord Elrond. While the Dwarves’ dislike for the Elves is based on a loathing for the entire race as a collective, Gailien has a general distaste for them but her mind is open to first impressions and individual judgment. And Lord Elrond had offered her a haven when she needed it, harbouring no judgement for her blood or appearance – considering Elron is half-elven himself. To her, she treats them like she would any other race but finds that they are the ones who earn her scathing looks the most.

The bridge ends with two tall golden statues of Elven guards and onto a sort of balcony. The Dwarves huddle along it, still eyeing off the Elvish establishment, feeling out of place. Most hold themselves ready to grab their weapons, talking quietly amongst themselves. Gandalf stands forward but the woman holds herself back, finding comfort in between the King and Kili as they wait to be invited in – or kicked out.

A dark-haired Elf is the first to greet them, walking down the flight of stairs with a grace that even Elena is envious of. “Mithrandir,” Lindir welcomes, his voice smooth and typical of Elven style. Gailien sighs slightly as like Elrond, Lindir is one such Elf that she has had a good experience with.

“Ah, Lindir,” Gandalf greets back with a small smile. Lindir looks to the company, with-holding the mild shock that Gandalf has managed to lead them into Imladris, although, they do look most unhappy with their own arrival. But nevertheless, he offers the wizard with a hand to his chest then holding it out. From the corner of her eye, she sees Thorin lean over to Dwalin whispering something in his ear.

“Gailien,” Lindir speaks his head gesturing slightly to the woman. The company glance at their female member, waiting to see her response. “Mae athollen, gen ú-gennin.” Gailien smiles kindly, also giving the Elvish greeting. She attempts to make a step forward out of politeness, but a rough hand catches her elbow. Her head tilts slightly to see Thorin glaring not at her, but at Lindir, not allowing her to step away from the company. Gailien is not quite sure what his particular reason his for holding her back but she puts it to his distrust of Lindir – and all Elves.

Not wanting to leave her greeting unreturned, she stays where she is instead. “Glass nín le, mellon.” Lindir nods in acknowledgement before returning his attention to Gandalf. Thorin’s hand drops from Gailien’s arm but she stays put, nonetheless.

“We heard you had crossed into the Valley,” he says, a curious hint in his voice – but also a slightly accusatory one. Though, one laced in curious suspicion, not in detest. Thorin and some of the other Dwarves grunt at the Elvish, a language they do not understand.

“I must speak with Lord Elrond,” Gandalf says, skipping over the insinuation.

“My Lord Elrond is not here,” Lindir replies in Common Tongue.

“Not here? Where is he?”

As if to answer his question, the hunting horn which they heard earlier rings through Rivendell. The party of Elves hunting down the orcs earlier ride in on the same bridge the Dwarves entered through, riding on their horses. The Dwarves become unsettled as the party of Elves ride in on their positions and even Thorin feels threatened.

“Close ranks!” he commands. The Dwarven company close in, their weapons brandishing as their backs press up against each other. Bofur pulls Bilbo inside their ranks, holding him under their protection. Gailien is tugged by Kili inside as well as the dwarf prince stands in front of her. Gailien rolls her eyes. She may not be overly fond of Elves – but they will not kill them! At least, not in Rivendell.

The Elvish party rides in, the first horse riding around them until the others join in. The Elves form two circles riding opposite directions around the company. Gailien admits that the action is a threatening one, almost to intimidate them but they only do so because the company of Dwarves is unexpected and unannounced. Their eyes flicker in all directions, waiting for one of them to attack.

Gailien pushes her way out of the ranks until she is outside, waiting near Gandalf. She does not need their protection. “Gandalf,” Elron greets in Common Tongue, smiling at his old friend’s arrival. He narrows his eyes at the smaller elf by his side. “Gailien,” he adds.

“Lord Elrond,” Gandalf says. “My Friend! Where have you been?”

“We’ve been hunting a pack of Orcs that came up from the South,” The Lord of Rivendell answers, dismounting his horse. Thorin and the Dwarves still hold their ranks, but Bilbo strains his neck over their heads, trying to take in the situation as much of as possible. “We slew a number near the Hidden Pass.” Elrond embraces Gandalf partially, nodding at Gailien. “Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders. Something or someone has drawn them near,” he finishes in Common tongue.

“My apologies,” Gailien answers on behalf of the company. “We may have had a part to play in the cause of your efforts.” The side of Elrond’s mouth tips up in what is almost a smile. Gailien stands to the side, allowing Elrond to see the company of Dwarves that he may be hosting in full. Taking this as his signal, Thorin walks forward to meet Elrond who notices the leader.

“Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain,” the Lord says. Thorin flicks his gaze up.

“I do not believe we have met,” he replies coolly. Gailien can’t help but be thankful that an insult is not the first thing to leave his mouth, but it cannot be ruled out for the rest of the interaction just yet.

“You have your grandfather’s bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain,” Elrond adds, both sides holding their ground.

“Indeed? He made no mention of you,” Thorin growls. Gailien looks up to the sky to hold herself from reacting. They need what Elrond can offer them and if Thorin is going to be utterly stubborn, she loathes to think where else they will go next.

Elrond tilts his neck back to the young Elf. “This is the company you keep?” he questions in a tease. Gailien raises her brows. Thorin clenches his jaw as Rivendell’s Lord turns away from him.

“They have good hearts,” she answers. “But they will do well to learn to hold their tongues.”

Elrond agrees but he does not voice it. Instead, he returns his gaze to Thorin but speaks to the entire company in Elvish. The Dwarves, as they should in their opinion, find it insulting to be talked about in a foreign language while present. Gailien just thinks that Elrond finds it entertaining.

“What is he saying?” Gloin growls. “Does he offer us insult?” The dwarves rile themselves up, glaring at any Elf that comes into their sight. Gandalf is quick to deny it, feeling the length of Elrond’s welcome will be shortened if they are to cause trouble.

“No, Master Gloin, he’s offering you food,” the wizard argues. Humorously (in Gailien’s opinion), the Dwarves quieten, leaning into the person closest to them and quietly debate. The woman truly hopes they will take his offer as her stomach is grumbling and she does not wish for them to have to leave and set up camp. Thorin, who is leaning and talking to Dwalin both catch her eye and Gailien cannot help but believe they are talking about her. She moves her gaze away, hoping to ignore it but her stomach unsettles as she cannot hear their muffled words. “Ah, well,” Gloin says in a softer voice. “In that case, lead on.”

Xx

Gailien is led to the guest chambers, and either out of Elrond’s request or just a happy coincidence, Gailien is given the small chambers that she resided in the last time she was here, nearly two hundred years ago. The dwarves preferred to stick together, making their own camp but Gailien cannot resist the call of a bath and bed. It is though, in the world of Elves, years are simply days as the room has not changed one bit. There are still flowers decoration the large dresser and the bed cover is still the same. It has a small balcony that looks over one of the many beautiful waterfalls.

Gailien can almost pretend that she loves being here. Yet, even from the balcony entrance to her room, she feels the stares of the Elves living in Rivendell. Perhaps, this time, they are not looking at her in particular but rather the collective company, but it is a harsh reminder of the reality she faced.

On the bed is a clean shirt and pair of pants, suited to her size which makes her wonder if Elrond new of their arrival beforehand, or if he just hires very proficient servants. Dinner is not for a few hours, giving her enough time to soak in the bath.

Stripping from her ragged clothes, she sinks into the tub of warm water which becomes stained in a matter of minutes as she rubs the dirt, blood, and grime that has been building up for the last few weeks. She can all but hope that the Dwarves will do the same as she could smell them but made no mention as she probably smelt the same.

Her hair floats around her head which is submerged in the water, leaving only her face above it. She runs her fingers through it, scratching at her scalp to remove everything off it. Once she feels clean enough, she drains the water but then fills the tub back up again with clean warm water. This time, she can lie there in the water which stays clear and lets the warmth soak around her. Her eyes close, letting her ears stay submerged and muffle any sound which dares to penetrate the bathroom door.

Gailien snaps her eyes back open, fearing that she may have fallen asleep, but the high window shows that the sun has not moved from it position from when she entered. Even if she only fell asleep for a few short moments, it is enough to awaken her mind and body. Pushing herself from the tub, Gailien reaches for a soft white towel and dries herself off. Instead of draining the tub, she removes the few pieces of armour from her clothes, separating them and places her dirty clothes into the water. She pours the entire bottle of Elvish soap into the tub, swirling it around with her hand to let the material soak in water overnight before she has them washed normally.

The clothes that Elrond has put out for her are simple enough, not fit for travelling, but for wear while she is in Rivendell. Their light and soft material are incredibly different from the heavy weight of her normal clothes – though they offer protection and warmth in return. Gailien almost feels bare even though she is fully dressed.

There is still time before the small feast. This may be one time that she will get a break from the dwarves and she intends to take advantage of that. But the only other company is with the Elves which is just as awful sounding. Gailien leaves her room, sauntering down the halls. It takes a few missed turns and retracing steps but eventually she finds herself in the library.

The walls are high, and she strains her neck to see the top of the ivory cases. She knows there is some sort of order in which the books are placed but there are no signs or pointers. No matter. Her fingers trail along the spines of the books as she slowly walks down one of the aisles. A few catch her interest, but she keeps walking, risking them for one even greater. And one is.

Pulling the book from the shelf, she reads the inside pages, skimming the words to confirm her mind’s interest. Satisfied, she holds it to her chest, walking back out into the common area of Rivendell’s library. She plants herself on one of the many seats near the windows overlooking the city. The book opens on her lap and she starts absorbing the words. 

The words enchant her, and for the time that she reads, the world around her fades away until she is forgetting that she is reading. The words tell tales about the heroes in the world of men, short stories detailing their conquering’s and achievements. Things that Gailien has envisioned herself doing, yet found her life only filled with mundanities of survival. Even this quest where she is intending on facing a dragon does not yet feel like an adventure. Though, they have only reached Rivendell.

On top of this, she is content with her own efforts today, knowing that she saved the life of the King and he actually listened to her. Or maybe he just realised that they would have been slaughtered on his own account. Nevertheless, there are a few in the company still here that may have not been.

It is often difficult to change what has been foreseen as what is shown to her is the direct path that is almost certain to happen. Yet, small and big actions can be taken like today’s and the path entirely changes.

“You do not make yourself easy to find.”

The new voice startles her from her imagination, breaking the spell and the present builds itself back up around her. Gailien snaps the book close on instinct, giving the Elf a slight glare. “I was not hiding, you just do not know where to look,” she responds to Lindir. She looks out to the sun, finding it still too early for dinner. “Does Lord Elrond need me for something?”

“No.” Lindir steps forward, taking a seat on the chair on her left. Gailien smiles to herself, glad that he still takes no prejudice against her as he did the first time. And she is still happy to call him a friend. “But some of the Dwarves seem to believe we have kidnapped you and are demanding that we bring you to them this instant.”

Gailien snorts, placing the book to her side. “I find that hard to believe. They do not trust me, well, maybe the princes do but I am still an outsider to them.” Lindir huffs in mirth.

“Would you believe me if I told you that it was Thorin Oakenshield demanding for your presence?” he question.

“No,” she replies instantly and honestly. “I do not believe that for a second.”

Lindir shrugs in resignation. “It was a blonde dwarf with strange braids in his beard.” Lindir gestures to his mouth area, pulling his lips back slightly. Gailien laughs.

“That would be Fili and they are not odd,” she defends. “I’m almost certain their braids have meaning. Us Elves just wear them to look pretty.” Her taunt works and Lindir gives the short woman a playful glare.

“I believe we look very handsome with our hair. I swear they have probably never seen a comb in their life,” he remarks. Gailien rolls her eyes. While she is lucky to not face Lindir’s insults, this is the attitude of the Elves that drove her away in the first place.

“You should not judge them on their appearance, Lindir. For their hearts are braver than many Elves I know.” Her strong eyes pierce into the taller man but then drop as she finds the conversation too serious for her mood. “Besides, after travelling with them you find yourself looking the same, if not worse anyway.”

“I noticed,” he quips. Gailien doesn’t retort but brushes her fingers through her hair – something she has not been able to do in days. “What brought you into their company?”

“Mithrandir,” she sighs, smiling softly. “They wanted my help, well, they wanted my skills. It took a little bit of convincing to let them have me join.” Lindir nods knowingly. It is no secret that Gandalf likes to muddle with the people of Middle Earth.

“And you willing followed their leader? Thorin Oakenshield?” he questions. Gailien rests her head on her hands, her elbow digging into the material of the armrest.

“I know Thorin can come off as…” she trails off, not finding the right word which is not insulting but truthful.

“Stubborn? Rude?” Lindir offers her. Gailien smirks but tries to hide it.

“Perhaps,” she resigns. “But he is a strong leader, and I am proud to be in his company. He just…isn't so happy to be in mine.”

“Dwarves are hard of mind,” Lindir replies in an even but warning tone. “Do not expect him to have an open mind, nor change his opinion about you.” Gailien nods but holds any argument to herself. She knows that his words are true, but she cannot deny that Thorin and some of the other company members have slowly opened up to her. Some more than others but the fact that Thorin listened to her today is an event that she takes with pride.

But Lindir is right of course. While they may become more trusting of her, they will still never fully accept her into their ranks. The loyalty that she offers them will never be returned and if her life is on the line, she doubts whether they will do much to fight for it. Gailien is not angry at that truth as it is one that she has expected before she even met the company but it is still upsetting to know that no matter her actions, she will always remain an outsider.

“I know,” she answers instead.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 13: Books and Elves

The dwarves follow Gandalf and Gailien (who seems to be the most comfortable out of all of them besides Gandalf) down the long narrow path. The stone is bright, reflecting the sun and underneath is a chasm but even that doesn’t look scary. Though, it does not stop Gailien from watching her step and keeping to the middle.

Gailien also can’t help thinking to herself that if they have to come to the Elves for help, she is grateful that it is Lord Elrond. While the Dwarves’ dislike for the Elves is based on a loathing for the entire race as a collective, Gailien has a general distaste for them but her mind is open to first impressions and individual judgment. And Lord Elrond had offered her a haven when she needed it, harbouring no judgement for her blood or appearance – considering Elron is half-elven himself. To her, she treats them like she would any other race but finds that they are the ones who earn her scathing looks the most.

The bridge ends with two tall golden statues of Elven guards and onto a sort of balcony. The Dwarves huddle along it, still eyeing off the Elvish establishment, feeling out of place. Most hold themselves ready to grab their weapons, talking quietly amongst themselves. Gandalf stands forward but the woman holds herself back, finding comfort in between the King and Kili as they wait to be invited in – or kicked out.

A dark-haired Elf is the first to greet them, walking down the flight of stairs with a grace that even Elena is envious of. “Mithrandir,” Lindir welcomes, his voice smooth and typical of Elven style. Gailien sighs slightly as like Elrond, Lindir is one such Elf that she has had a good experience with.

“Ah, Lindir,” Gandalf greets back with a small smile. Lindir looks to the company, with-holding the mild shock that Gandalf has managed to lead them into Imladris, although, they do look most unhappy with their own arrival. But nevertheless, he offers the wizard with a hand to his chest then holding it out. From the corner of her eye, she sees Thorin lean over to Dwalin whispering something in his ear.

“Gailien,” Lindir speaks his head gesturing slightly to the woman. The company glance at their female member, waiting to see her response. “Mae athollen, gen ú-gennin.” Gailien smiles kindly, also giving the Elvish greeting. She attempts to make a step forward out of politeness, but a rough hand catches her elbow. Her head tilts slightly to see Thorin glaring not at her, but at Lindir, not allowing her to step away from the company. Gailien is not quite sure what his particular reason his for holding her back but she puts it to his distrust of Lindir – and all Elves.

Not wanting to leave her greeting unreturned, she stays where she is instead. “Glass nín le, mellon.” Lindir nods in acknowledgement before returning his attention to Gandalf. Thorin’s hand drops from Gailien’s arm but she stays put, nonetheless.

“We heard you had crossed into the Valley,” he says, a curious hint in his voice – but also a slightly accusatory one. Though, one laced in curious suspicion, not in detest. Thorin and some of the other Dwarves grunt at the Elvish, a language they do not understand.

“I must speak with Lord Elrond,” Gandalf says, skipping over the insinuation.

“My Lord Elrond is not here,” Lindir replies in Common Tongue.

“Not here? Where is he?”

As if to answer his question, the hunting horn which they heard earlier rings through Rivendell. The party of Elves hunting down the orcs earlier ride in on the same bridge the Dwarves entered through, riding on their horses. The Dwarves become unsettled as the party of Elves ride in on their positions and even Thorin feels threatened.

“Close ranks!” he commands. The Dwarven company close in, their weapons brandishing as their backs press up against each other. Bofur pulls Bilbo inside their ranks, holding him under their protection. Gailien is tugged by Kili inside as well as the dwarf prince stands in front of her. Gailien rolls her eyes. She may not be overly fond of Elves – but they will not kill them! At least, not in Rivendell.

The Elvish party rides in, the first horse riding around them until the others join in. The Elves form two circles riding opposite directions around the company. Gailien admits that the action is a threatening one, almost to intimidate them but they only do so because the company of Dwarves is unexpected and unannounced. Their eyes flicker in all directions, waiting for one of them to attack.

Gailien pushes her way out of the ranks until she is outside, waiting near Gandalf. She does not need their protection. “Gandalf,” Elron greets in Common Tongue, smiling at his old friend’s arrival. He narrows his eyes at the smaller elf by his side. “Gailien,” he adds.

“Lord Elrond,” Gandalf says. “My Friend! Where have you been?”

“We’ve been hunting a pack of Orcs that came up from the South,” The Lord of Rivendell answers, dismounting his horse. Thorin and the Dwarves still hold their ranks, but Bilbo strains his neck over their heads, trying to take in the situation as much of as possible. “We slew a number near the Hidden Pass.” Elrond embraces Gandalf partially, nodding at Gailien. “Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders. Something or someone has drawn them near,” he finishes in Common tongue.

“My apologies,” Gailien answers on behalf of the company. “We may have had a part to play in the cause of your efforts.” The side of Elrond’s mouth tips up in what is almost a smile. Gailien stands to the side, allowing Elrond to see the company of Dwarves that he may be hosting in full. Taking this as his signal, Thorin walks forward to meet Elrond who notices the leader.

“Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain,” the Lord says. Thorin flicks his gaze up.

“I do not believe we have met,” he replies coolly. Gailien can’t help but be thankful that an insult is not the first thing to leave his mouth, but it cannot be ruled out for the rest of the interaction just yet.

“You have your grandfather’s bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain,” Elrond adds, both sides holding their ground.

“Indeed? He made no mention of you,” Thorin growls. Gailien looks up to the sky to hold herself from reacting. They need what Elrond can offer them and if Thorin is going to be utterly stubborn, she loathes to think where else they will go next.

Elrond tilts his neck back to the young Elf. “This is the company you keep?” he questions in a tease. Gailien raises her brows. Thorin clenches his jaw as Rivendell’s Lord turns away from him.

“They have good hearts,” she answers. “But they will do well to learn to hold their tongues.”

Elrond agrees but he does not voice it. Instead, he returns his gaze to Thorin but speaks to the entire company in Elvish. The Dwarves, as they should in their opinion, find it insulting to be talked about in a foreign language while present. Gailien just thinks that Elrond finds it entertaining.

“What is he saying?” Gloin growls. “Does he offer us insult?” The dwarves rile themselves up, glaring at any Elf that comes into their sight. Gandalf is quick to deny it, feeling the length of Elrond’s welcome will be shortened if they are to cause trouble.

“No, Master Gloin, he’s offering you food,” the wizard argues. Humorously (in Gailien’s opinion), the Dwarves quieten, leaning into the person closest to them and quietly debate. The woman truly hopes they will take his offer as her stomach is grumbling and she does not wish for them to have to leave and set up camp. Thorin, who is leaning and talking to Dwalin both catch her eye and Gailien cannot help but believe they are talking about her. She moves her gaze away, hoping to ignore it but her stomach unsettles as she cannot hear their muffled words. “Ah, well,” Gloin says in a softer voice. “In that case, lead on.”

Xx

Gailien is led to the guest chambers, and either out of Elrond’s request or just a happy coincidence, Gailien is given the small chambers that she resided in the last time she was here, nearly two hundred years ago. The dwarves preferred to stick together, making their own camp but Gailien cannot resist the call of a bath and bed. It is though, in the world of Elves, years are simply days as the room has not changed one bit. There are still flowers decoration the large dresser and the bed cover is still the same. It has a small balcony that looks over one of the many beautiful waterfalls.

Gailien can almost pretend that she loves being here. Yet, even from the balcony entrance to her room, she feels the stares of the Elves living in Rivendell. Perhaps, this time, they are not looking at her in particular but rather the collective company, but it is a harsh reminder of the reality she faced.

On the bed is a clean shirt and pair of pants, suited to her size which makes her wonder if Elrond new of their arrival beforehand, or if he just hires very proficient servants. Dinner is not for a few hours, giving her enough time to soak in the bath.

Stripping from her ragged clothes, she sinks into the tub of warm water which becomes stained in a matter of minutes as she rubs the dirt, blood, and grime that has been building up for the last few weeks. She can all but hope that the Dwarves will do the same as she could smell them but made no mention as she probably smelt the same.

Her hair floats around her head which is submerged in the water, leaving only her face above it. She runs her fingers through it, scratching at her scalp to remove everything off it. Once she feels clean enough, she drains the water but then fills the tub back up again with clean warm water. This time, she can lie there in the water which stays clear and lets the warmth soak around her. Her eyes close, letting her ears stay submerged and muffle any sound which dares to penetrate the bathroom door.

Gailien snaps her eyes back open, fearing that she may have fallen asleep, but the high window shows that the sun has not moved from it position from when she entered. Even if she only fell asleep for a few short moments, it is enough to awaken her mind and body. Pushing herself from the tub, Gailien reaches for a soft white towel and dries herself off. Instead of draining the tub, she removes the few pieces of armour from her clothes, separating them and places her dirty clothes into the water. She pours the entire bottle of Elvish soap into the tub, swirling it around with her hand to let the material soak in water overnight before she has them washed normally.

The clothes that Elrond has put out for her are simple enough, not fit for travelling, but for wear while she is in Rivendell. Their light and soft material are incredibly different from the heavy weight of her normal clothes – though they offer protection and warmth in return. Gailien almost feels bare even though she is fully dressed.

There is still time before the small feast. This may be one time that she will get a break from the dwarves and she intends to take advantage of that. But the only other company is with the Elves which is just as awful sounding. Gailien leaves her room, sauntering down the halls. It takes a few missed turns and retracing steps but eventually she finds herself in the library.

The walls are high, and she strains her neck to see the top of the ivory cases. She knows there is some sort of order in which the books are placed but there are no signs or pointers. No matter. Her fingers trail along the spines of the books as she slowly walks down one of the aisles. A few catch her interest, but she keeps walking, risking them for one even greater. And one is.

Pulling the book from the shelf, she reads the inside pages, skimming the words to confirm her mind’s interest. Satisfied, she holds it to her chest, walking back out into the common area of Rivendell’s library. She plants herself on one of the many seats near the windows overlooking the city. The book opens on her lap and she starts absorbing the words. 

The words enchant her, and for the time that she reads, the world around her fades away until she is forgetting that she is reading. The words tell tales about the heroes in the world of men, short stories detailing their conquering’s and achievements. Things that Gailien has envisioned herself doing, yet found her life only filled with mundanities of survival. Even this quest where she is intending on facing a dragon does not yet feel like an adventure. Though, they have only reached Rivendell.

On top of this, she is content with her own efforts today, knowing that she saved the life of the King and he actually listened to her. Or maybe he just realised that they would have been slaughtered on his own account. Nevertheless, there are a few in the company still here that may have not been.

It is often difficult to change what has been foreseen as what is shown to her is the direct path that is almost certain to happen. Yet, small and big actions can be taken like today’s and the path entirely changes.

“You do not make yourself easy to find.”

The new voice startles her from her imagination, breaking the spell and the present builds itself back up around her. Gailien snaps the book close on instinct, giving the Elf a slight glare. “I was not hiding, you just do not know where to look,” she responds to Lindir. She looks out to the sun, finding it still too early for dinner. “Does Lord Elrond need me for something?”

“No.” Lindir steps forward, taking a seat on the chair on her left. Gailien smiles to herself, glad that he still takes no prejudice against her as he did the first time. And she is still happy to call him a friend. “But some of the Dwarves seem to believe we have kidnapped you and are demanding that we bring you to them this instant.”

Gailien snorts, placing the book to her side. “I find that hard to believe. They do not trust me, well, maybe the princes do but I am still an outsider to them.” Lindir huffs in mirth.

“Would you believe me if I told you that it was Thorin Oakenshield demanding for your presence?” he question.

“No,” she replies instantly and honestly. “I do not believe that for a second.”

Lindir shrugs in resignation. “It was a blonde dwarf with strange braids in his beard.” Lindir gestures to his mouth area, pulling his lips back slightly. Gailien laughs.

“That would be Fili and they are not odd,” she defends. “I’m almost certain their braids have meaning. Us Elves just wear them to look pretty.” Her taunt works and Lindir gives the short woman a playful glare.

“I believe we look very handsome with our hair. I swear they have probably never seen a comb in their life,” he remarks. Gailien rolls her eyes. While she is lucky to not face Lindir’s insults, this is the attitude of the Elves that drove her away in the first place.

“You should not judge them on their appearance, Lindir. For their hearts are braver than many Elves I know.” Her strong eyes pierce into the taller man but then drop as she finds the conversation too serious for her mood. “Besides, after travelling with them you find yourself looking the same, if not worse anyway.”

“I noticed,” he quips. Gailien doesn’t retort but brushes her fingers through her hair – something she has not been able to do in days. “What brought you into their company?”

“Mithrandir,” she sighs, smiling softly. “They wanted my help, well, they wanted my skills. It took a little bit of convincing to let them have me join.” Lindir nods knowingly. It is no secret that Gandalf likes to muddle with the people of Middle Earth.

“And you willing followed their leader? Thorin Oakenshield?” he questions. Gailien rests her head on her hands, her elbow digging into the material of the armrest.

“I know Thorin can come off as…” she trails off, not finding the right word which is not insulting but truthful.

“Stubborn? Rude?” Lindir offers her. Gailien smirks but tries to hide it.

“Perhaps,” she resigns. “But he is a strong leader, and I am proud to be in his company. He just…isn't so happy to be in mine.”

“Dwarves are hard of mind,” Lindir replies in an even but warning tone. “Do not expect him to have an open mind, nor change his opinion about you.” Gailien nods but holds any argument to herself. She knows that his words are true, but she cannot deny that Thorin and some of the other company members have slowly opened up to her. Some more than others but the fact that Thorin listened to her today is an event that she takes with pride.

But Lindir is right of course. While they may become more trusting of her, they will still never fully accept her into their ranks. The loyalty that she offers them will never be returned and if her life is on the line, she doubts whether they will do much to fight for it. Gailien is not angry at that truth as it is one that she has expected before she even met the company but it is still upsetting to know that no matter her actions, she will always remain an outsider.

“I know,” she answers instead.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Whisperings

Gailien saunters back to the company under the still young night sky. Once upon a time, her favourite part of the day was morning, when the sun had just risen, and new light warmed the lands. A new day ahead of her with hopes for beautiful weather and new adventures. But then once her life turned over, she began to find comfort in the night and the peace that it brings. The stars have brought her to tears before – just from gazing at them and she became hyper-aware of the reality around her. It also meant that it is time to build a fire where she nearly cooks herself with its heat.

She turns down one of the corridors leading out to the dwarves’ camp where she intends to spend the rest of the night until she feels like sleep. A soft smile on her face from the day’s events. Sure, they could have been better, but everybody is alive and well and the map has been read.

Her head turns slightly on instinct as she hears voices come from a small balcony in an antechamber. Kili, Fili, and Dori are having a private conversation. Finding that it is none of her business, her feet keep moving until she hears her name being said by the eldest dwarf. Her head tilts to the side, turning her ears towards the door that she has just passed. Her brow twitches as she tunes her hearing into their conversation. Or rather, Dori’s words as the Princes stay silent.

“You shouldn’t trust her,” the Dwarf hisses. “She’s brought us here along with Gandalf. She pretended to hate the Elves to get us to trust her then as soon as she is with them, she’s all over the Lint lad.” Gailien’s good mood dampens in seconds. And not only does is dampen, but it also morphs into an entirely new emotion. “I bet she purposely didn’t tell Thorin about the trolls in hopes that she could knock a few off us, so she could get more treasure from the mountain!”

She wants to storm in there. She wants to cry, to scream, to fold herself into a ball. She thought she was beginning to gain their trust. Thorin’s trust. It has been a hard duty so far but she has done her best and yet Dori loathes her presence so much that he has pulled her two friends away to convince them otherwise. Is this how the entire company sees her as well? Surely at least Bilbo does not. And Bofur, perhaps Ori.

“There is talk about leaving her behind.”

That is enough. Her eavesdropping comes to an end and she stalks away from the room. Her jaw pushes her out as she attempts to hold herself together, her eyes wandering up to the roof as water begins to swell at the lids. She could handle a few of them not liking her – she is used to that enough. But to convince the men she considers friends that her intentions are dark… for greed. And she truly believed that Thorin was beginning to have faith in her.

She barely manages to hold everything in until she reaches an empty corridor. Her palms slam against the wall, her forehead resting between them as her lips curl in silent bawls. Everything comes back to her – suffocating. Elves whispering behind her back, gossiping about what an oddity she is. The eyes of men peering at her as she wanders through their streets. Being called a child by men less than one-quarter of her age. Being denied service in taverns of ‘prestige’.

Her back now presses against the wall, sliding down until her legs fit in her arms being held to her chest. It seems that no matter where she tries to find company, their words find a way to worm through everything. Though all her mind’s sprint of thoughts, she misses the heavy thud of boots on the stone floor until they are next to her, followed by a heavy-set figure sitting down next to her.

Her head slowly lifts from her knees, peeking to the side. If she had made a list of who she is expecting, Dwalin would have been at the very bottom. Well, above Dori. Dwalin is probably the least emotional dwarf, at least, visibly. He holds his face stern and straight like the warrior he is. She sniffs – almost trying to pretend that she is fine, but both know that is a silly waste of efforts.

“Did Thorin say something to you?” he asks, speaking first. Gailien shakes her head.

“No.”

Dwalin waits for her to continue talking but the woman holds her tongue. All he knows is that he saw Thorin walking back to camp as he was coming back from pissing on the roses, then Gailien is storming off in another direction. Though, now that he thinks about it, Thorin did not seem put out as he usually does after an argument with somebody. “Is this some type of womanly thing I don’t know about?” he asks instead, shrinking his top lip to his nose as his hand gesture to her. Gailien chokes on a bubble of laughter at the warrior’s discomfort but shakes her head again.

“I just overheard Dori saying some things to Fili and Kili,” she admits. Now she feels rather silly, raising all this fuss over a few words from one dwarf. She has let her past get the better of her. “About me,” she adds. Dwalin sighs, bringing one knee up to loop his arms around.

“Ah,” he says in a sort of resignation. “Dori is a… stubborn Dwarf-“

“I thought stubborn was in the name,” she butts in, adding a little attempted humour now that she can think properly. Dwalin snorts in agreement.

“Yes, but he is the stubborn of the stubborn,” he intones. “He has always hated Elves and anything to do with them.” Like most Dwarves, she adds to herself. “And he cannot see past that.”

“He accused me of withholding information about the trolls from Thorin and leading you all here to the Elves for my own pleasure,” she huffs. As odd as her company is, Gailien is glad that somebody has found her, allowing her to dump her thoughts onto him. At least it is Dwalin who she knows is reasonable enough in comparison to the others.

“Well, I know for a fact that that is not true,” Dwalin says. Gailien tilts her head towards him in speculation of his words. “I was there when you told Thorin about the trolls. And I heard him brush it off.”

Gailien’s mouth opens in slightly shock. She did not think anybody had heard them over the rain. She doesn’t know whether to be glad or not that somebody knows it was not entirely her fault. Of course, she could have fought harder for Thorin to believe her, so she does carry some of the blame but in the end, it was something that was unexpected. 

“My question is,” he continues, “why didn’t you tell the company when they asked if you had seen the trolls. You told Thorin, so you have no fault in what happened.”

“That is exactly why,” she points out. “Because I told Thorin. And he didn’t listen. If I had told the company that Thorin was aware of the danger yet ignored it, it would have reflected badly on him. I don’t think they will appreciate their leader putting them in a danger that could have been avoided.”

Dwalin nods, understanding her words. “Do you really care about their opinions of our leader that much?” he wonders.

“Not theirs in individually,” she confesses. “But I think Thorin is a good leader and I believe in this cause. People make mistakes and if I can help those, I care about then I will.”

“So, you care about Thorin?”

“Of course, I do,” she answers quickly. “I care about the entire company, even if they do not feel the same way about me. I’ve pledged my help to them, and I take pride in my loyalty.”

Dwalin holds a hand up in surrender at the girl’s short fuse. “Didn’t mean to insult your intentions,” he says. “Just didn’t expect you to take this quest so personally.”

The quest. To reclaim the lost mountain of Erebor, their home. She knows what it is like to not be welcome in your own home, to be forced out into the world without any idea of where to go, or who will offer you help and who will toss you to the road. To have to beg for food or work and to never quite fit in even if you travel to all four corners of the world. “I just know what its like to not have a home. And even if I wasn’t on this quest, I think Thorin deserves the loyalty that you give him. And I think everybody on this quest deserves respect for even putting their hand up, knowing that a dragon potentially awaits us at the end.”

“I know he doesn’t show it, but Thorin also respects you,” Dwalin says, leaning forward as his voice drops down to a whisper as though Thorin may overhear him. “He knows that you have no reason to help him, yet here you are.” Gailien smiles, trying to hide it under her hand. Dwalin’s stomach rumbles, loud in the quietness of the empty corridor. Gailien giggles childishly. “I’m starved,” he grunts, holding a hand to his stomach. “Their rabbit food is a sickening green.”

Gailien stands, offering a hand down to the warrior. He perks an eyebrow but takes it. She struggles under his weight, but she manages to heave him up. She could swear that he resisted just to test her and the small smirk on his face only raises her suspicions. “Come with me,” she orders.

Dwalin follows her as she leads him away from the direction of the camp. “Where we goin’,” he grunts, looking around the path trying to find something familiar to orientate himself. Everything looks the same and if Gailien was not so confident, he would think she has no idea herself. But Gailien walks with a set intention and soon he is forced to follow purely because he would never find his way back alone – and he would never ask one of the Elves for help.

“I think some proper dinner is in order,” Gailien replies with a knowingly smile. Dwalin stares at her, his features slowly pulling back into a grin as he understands her words. He cheers into the night, walking so fast that Gailien is forced to march in order to stay in the lead, lest he walks off in the wrong direction. Dwalin’s mouth starts watering just at the thought of food that isn’t green.

Gailien leads him all the way down to the kitchens which she knows are empty at this hour of the night. Dwalin follows her like a child waiting for candy and as she opens the doors to the large room, Dwalin pushes past her, his arms open wide and he cheers once again. One wall is completely filled with wine barrels and the opposite is the large furnace ovens. I the middle of the room is a large wooden counter. Then at the back of the room is an archway to the storage.

“Get a fire going,” she says to Dwalin, gesturing to the oven where a large pile of fuel is stacked next to it. The room itself is covered in darkness, but the torches will be easy to light once the fire is going. As Dwalin does as she asks, Gailien struts to the back of the room, through the archway and into the storage. Sure enough, there are piles of fresh meat, dried meat, potatoes, and a whole other array of foods the Elves withheld from them.

Taking one of the trollies, she loads the silver tray with meat upon meat. Every type of meat she can find and all the other things she knows they will eat. Gailien is trusting Dwalin’s words very much so right now – that it is just Dori and maybe one or two others that still hold their vicious views. She has no idea if Kili and Fili will listen to Dori but even so, she cares about them.

Now full, Gailien slowly rolls the trolly back out into the kitchen with one hand while the other hovers in the air, ready to catch anything that falls from the massive pile. Dwalin has managed to get the oven alight and even took the initiative to light the torches as well. The room is cloaked in the soft warm light.

“This is more like it,” he growls hungrily as the tray rolls past him. He claps his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation. Gailien grins, sticking her hand up to the oven to see if it is hot enough yet. A few minutes.

“Just about took their entire stock,” she chuckles, pushing herself up onto the bench. “But I think I can hear their stomachs growling from here so I thought it would be best to take it all.”

“Slimy Elves feeding us grass when they had all this.” He waves his hand in the air at the food before he crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “How’d you know where to find the kitchens anyways?”

Gailien shrugs, leaning back on her hands. “I wandered the hallways one night when I was here all those years ago and found it. Nearly stuffed my face with all the nuts and berries.”

“What did Thorin want you an’ Bilbo for earlier?”

“We had a meeting with Gandalf and Elrond,” she answers. Truthfully, she isn’t sure what she should and shouldn’t say but she figures in Thorin would tell anybody, it would be Dwalin anyways. “He showed him the map.” Dwalin’s eyes narrow and his shoulders stiffen.

“And what was he able to tell us.”

“Moon runes,” she quips. “We were lucky enough that we arrived on the night of the moon we can read them under. The key Thorin has, there is obviously a door and the map revealed that the door will reveal itself on the last light of Durin’s day.”

“Durin’s day?” He questions. “That is not that long off.” His pointer and thumb cup his chin through his beard, scratching it. Gailien takes note of the tattoos on his fingers, and the cuffs on his ears. She would love to decorate her own in the same style.

“No,” she agrees. “But it is workable, as long as we do not run into too much trouble.”

Dwalin’s hand drops slightly, but he points a finger at her instead. “And that is why we have you.” Gailien laughs lightly, nodding in agreement. But her mood sours again when she thinks of the company.

“Do you think…that Fili and Kili will listen to Dori?” she asks coyly. Her worries seem pathetic - like a child worried about moving somewhere new and not getting along with the other children. But she cannot help but think that the two brothers might just withdraw from her, which saddens her more than she would like to admit. Dwalin shakes his head as soon as she asks the question though.

“Nah,” he grunts. “Dori always tries to fill the head of younglings, but their mother raised them strong-minded. It might not seem like it, but they are much like Thorin when he was younger. A few words will not sway them.”

“So, their stubbornness may just work in my favour?” Dwalin chortles, half on his mouth pulling back into a smile. Gailien smiles to herself, checking the oven and finding it hot enough to put the meat in. Dwalin assists her and it is nearly filled to the brim. Gailien drifts off through the room, searching once again for something.

Dwalin watches as her eyes filter over the shelves until he sees them light up at something. Following her line of sight, his eyes also brighten. “I like the way you’re thinking!” Gailien pulls down a handful of tankards that they will also bring out. Dwalin follows, grabbing a handful more and line them up on the table.

One by one, as the food cooks behind them, they fill up each tankard with the wine from the barrels. There are far more full tankards then Dwarves and Hobbit, but she figures that they will likely want more than just one each. So finally, they carefully stack them on top of each other on the bottom of the trolley, leaving two out for themselves to drink as the food cooks.

“So, alcohol and food,” she muses through her sips, “I’m afraid we’re just missing Dwarven woman.” Dwalin chuckles at her reference as the wine beads in his beard. He holds his tankard up for a moment – a quick toast.

“I think this is good enough,” he says.

Once the food is cooked, they move them onto large silver plates with metal covers and stack them on the top of the tray. They will be able to roll the food most of the way back but will have to carry it to get outside where the Dwarves are camped.

Dwalin pushes the trolley as Gailien leads him back the way they came, feeling a lot chirper than before but one thing still rings in her mind. “Dwalin?” The warrior Dwarf grunts in response. “Dori said that there was talk about leaving me behind…” 

“What?” Dwalin grumbles something inaudibly. “Probably just talk with Gloin. I wouldn’t worry lass, as far as I know, Thorin ain’t got no intention of leaving you behind. That Hobbit on the other hand.” Her hand whacks his shoulder, feeling offended on the Hobbit’s behalf.

“He’s more than you give him credit for. And it wasn’t his fault with the trolls either – Kili and Fili sent him in there!” she defends. “We’d probably be eaten if it wasn’t for him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, wanting to roll his eyes but holds the urge in her presence. “And don’t be lying about what you see anymore,” he warns over his shoulder. “I know that you meant well, but the others might not take it so well if they find out you didn’t tell them about the trolls. It won’t matter to them that you told Thorin.”

“I promise,” she answers truthfully.

Reaching the stairs, Dwalin carefully stacks the metal covered plates on her arms and she tucks her chin on the top one to keep them in place before he loads his own arms. The tankards will just have to wait. Even from up here they can hear the laughter from the camp and her nerves start to bubble in the pit of her stomach.

Dwalin told her that the brothers would not be so easily swayed in their opinions, but she doesn’t know what else Dori said to them. And who else he has said something to. Nevertheless, she carefully finds her footing down the stairs with Dwalin behind her. The aroma of freshly cooked meat is strong to her nose and it wafts down with the draft.

“Oi!” Bofur exclaims, out of sight but close enough for him to be easily heard. “I can smell something!” There are a few murmurs through the camp in agreement. Kili sits up from his spot on the long seat, following his nose. The young dwarf walks around the side of camp where the bottom of the stairs are. He waits a moment as the smell becomes stronger. Then he sees Gailien’s and Dwalin’s feet and in their hands are numerous silver trays.

“Is that food?!” he cries out as they step off the last step. Gailien smiles partially, her jaw locked still on the silver lid. Kili takes her answer as a positive, and like Dwalin, starts drooling at the smell. The company hears Kili’s question, drawing their own interest even further and they also shuffle around, just as Dwalin and Gailien pass Kili.

“Dinner is ready boys!” Dwalin cries out. The Dwarves cheer and within moments, the trays are taken from their hands, the lids cast aside, and grubby fingers greedily take the still hot meat. Gailien beams as they all smile at her, well, minus two or three but she could deal with that. She looks around the camp as they all settle in, the silver plates on the ground as they eat in a buffet sort of style. Dwalin reappears – she hadn’t realised he left – carrying tankards. “And there is more where this came from!” he announces. Once again, the Dwarves cheer and the drinks are handed out.

Gailien feels a little peckish herself but she isn’t sure where she is welcome to sit. Bofur is next to Bombur, who is cleaning plates off in minutes – and would probably bite her fingers off if she tried to eat next to him. Kili and Fili have a plate to themselves, but she just isn’t quite sure yet if she is still welcome. Then there is Bilbo with Balin and Nori. Even Thorin is sitting in the middle of the camp with Dwalin who has found his spot.

“Oi! Gailien!” Kili calls over the woman, waving his hand at her. Gailien hesitates just for a moment to gauge his face but she sees nothing but a broad, warm smile that is normally on there. She waddles towards them, feeling leering eyes on her from what she will guess as Dori, but she intends to ignore him for now. She sits down between them and picks up one of the sausages. “You are my favourite person now,” Kili says with a mouth full of food. “No way Dwalin knew where to get all this.”

“I’m flattered,” she muses playfully. “At least I know that food is the way to your heart.” She bites into the food, moaning slightly as the juice sparks her taste buds. Sure, nuts and fruits are tasty, but nothing can beat a well-cooked meal like this. She eyes off Fili who is chugging his ale. “And ale and wine are the way to yours,” she adds with slightly wide eyes but ends with a bubble of laughter. Fili smirks, slamming his tankard on the ground by his side.

“And what is the way to this lady’s heart?” Fili questions, leaning forward with a finger pointing right at her chest. Gailien perks a brow, thinking about the question.

“Enthral me with tales and I’ll stay by your side until I have run you dry,” she answers. “But help me create my own, and I’ll never leave.” Fili and Kili don’t take much from her words, considering they sound a little too poetic for their liking and carry the conversation on somewhere else. She takes a long slow breath, looking between the two. If she had not overheard Dori earlier, she would be none-the-wiser as they act no different then before.

But she knows her words have been spoken in complete honestly. The tales she craves of her own don’t have to be of war, revenge and fallen kingdoms as the ones she reads in books. But adventures that are more than her mundane life has led so far. Someone that can sit next to her, share in creating a life that it worth living for. She has yet to find such a person, but in all honestly, she has not been incredibly vigilant in searching for one.

A hand stretches out in front of her, Fili offering her a full drink. “Drink in front of a fire,” he says with a slight cheek in his tone. He remembers.

“Thank you.”

From across the fire, a new set of eyes fall on her. Partially covered by the campfire are Dwalin and Thorin. The warrior glances once or twice her way but Thorin’s eyes stay planted on her. She tries to look away, finding it odd to stare but she cannot help but look back. She finds the courage to hold it for a few moments. Thorin nods once – slow and firm and Gailien knows this is his way of thanking her as he drinks and eats himself. Gailien takes Dwalin’s warning seriously – she will not lie anymore for the sake of trying to everything easy.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Training and Talks

After the previous night’s mischievous activities – which she knows she will be hearing about from Lindir today, Gailien went back to her room tiredly and meditated for a while in hopes that something will come to her. And something has. It was a frightening thing to watch, heavy rain all across her vision, the Dwarves barely visible but they make it. Make it to where – that she has no idea of, but she saw a cave, and everybody was alive. If there is a less treacherous path, she is more than willing to take it, but at least she knows this one will end well enough.

Her clothes that she left in the tub soaking last night have been cleaned and pressed, lain neatly back on the dresser. They must have done so last night while she was with the Dwarves, but she is pleased since she intends to help Bilbo this morning and the clothes they provided will not do.

The sun has barely risen and knowing that the Dwarves stayed up even much later than herself, she doesn’t doubt that they are all still asleep, snoring loudly as they do. With her twin blades in their rightful place, she sets back out to the Dwarven campsite.

A few Elves wander through the halls, going about their days. She ignores anything her Elven ears pick up after the first time she hears one of them mention the Dwarves rowdiness. No doubt the cooks entered the kitchen this morning carrying on about their nearly empty meat stock. Not to mention Dwalin now knows where they store their wine. But Gailien could not care less about their stockpiles.

She arrives at the Dwarven camp, and just as she envisioned, the Dwarves are all heavily asleep and heavy snores fill the air. Some are lain on top of each other, some have found homes on the seats and against walls. The silver trays are strewn amongst them is a messy fashion, not a lick of food left on them.

Gailien walks on the tips of her toes through them, watching for stretched out limbs. Thorin is still fast asleep like his company, but Gailien will inform him of what she saw as soon as she finds him awake. She bends down in front of Bilbo quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder. Jostling him slightly, the Hobbit awakes easily. His eyes blink away the blurry sleepiness as he lifts his head. Gailien smiles softly, holding a finger to her lips.

“Let us start on some training,” she says to the Hobbit quietly. Bilbo rounds his mouth in realisation then nods. Gailien stands back up, looking around the camp to confirm that she has not woken any of them. Bilbo stands up, stretching and yawning. He picks up his sword, putting it on his hip. Gailien motions for him to follow and they tiptoe out of the camp. Bilbo follows silently as she leads him out of the castle grounds, onto a large training field. Off to the side, there are targets with hundreds of indents in them and he can also spot a few hidden ones behind trees and bushes.

“You might want to take off your coat,” she advises, taking off her own jacket which leaves her in her blue blouse. Bilbo does so, albeit a little awkwardly. And then his training begins.

Gailien was right when she judged him as a quick learner. As someone that has never had to use such a weapon in his life, Bilbo caught onto the movements naturally, mimicking her movements as she instructs him on basic defence and offence. They practice all morning through sequences, even doing some light sparring. Gailien sticks to using only one of her blades, using it as one would a normal sword.

The sun rises higher and the sweat beads on the Hobbit’s neck, but he enjoys the training and doesn’t complain. “You are doing very well,” she says between heavy breathes. They have been working for at least two hours, and even she is feeling a tire. “You would make a fine swordsman with further training.” She steps back, holding her blade down to end their parrying. Bilbo breathes through his open mouth, also dropping his sword tip.

“Are you going to keep training me then?” he asks, squinting as the high sun covers his face.

“As long as you wish me to,” she laughs. “Or until I have nothing left to teach you.” She takes the lead, sitting down on the grass, sheathing her blade. Her hands stretch out behind her as the hobbit also sits down. “Do miss the Shire still?”

Bilbo bites his cheek, not wanting to admit the truth. But as he looks to the woman, he realises that he is probably in the best company to admit his feelings to. “Everyday.”

“I don’t blame you,” she muses softly. “You have a lovely home.”

“Bag End,” Bilbo says, more to himself than her. He purses his lips, looking down at the grass blades. “My father, Bungo Baggins built it.”

Gailien laughs freely again, earning her a look from Bilbo who isn’t sure whether to be offended or not. Gailien sees his look and shakes her head quickly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. I just find it a little funny that your family has a fascination with the letter ‘B.’ Bilbo, Bungo, Baggins, Bag End.” Bilbo makes a face of thought then laughs himself.

“I suppose so,” he agrees in good humour. “If you don’t mind me asking, do you have any family?”

Gailien refrains from frowning, not wanting to spoil a perfectly good morning. She has asked Bilbo personal questions, so it is only fair that he asks his own and she answers. Her life isn’t some secret that she holds behind tight lips, but it is something that she doesn’t talk about freely. “No,” she answers after a pregnant pause. “I only had my parents and a brother. My mother was mortal and died of natural causes long ago, my father, an Elf followed soon after from a broken heart. Elves are said to only love once and usually follow death after their loved one. And my brother was…he was like me when I was younger. Carefree, playful, a little childish.” One side of her lips pulls up in memory of her youth. “It got him killed in the end.”

Bilbo doesn’t know how to respond but eventually settles on, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she replies, now a full but forced smile on her cheeks. “It was long ago, and I loved them all.”

“You’re half Elven,” Bilbo begins and Gailien nods. “Does that mean you are immortal still?”

“In a way,” she explains, trying to find how to word it right since she doesn’t truly know herself. “Most Half-Elves are able to choose whether or not they want immortality. Those who do sail West, and those who do not, live an extended but mortal life. But, I do not think my father was a full Elf and I have no intention of sailing West so whatever happens, I will die here on Middle Earth one day.”

“And…And how long do you have if you chose mortality?” Bilbo questions hesitantly since the question is rather personal but Gailien takes no offence or hesitation in answering.

“No idea,” she quips. “But if I were to fall in love, I would likely live as long as they do. Or I may succumb to the sickness of men. There are many variables so I will live until fate decides otherwise.” Bilbo takes note of her chirpy half smile, feeling a little odd that the topic of death is being accompanied by such a pleasant tone. Each to their own, he thinks to himself. “Let’s go back and see if breakfast is coming.”

The two stand and saunter back to the camp at their own pace. They carry on a light conversation about the food last night and they laugh loudly as Bilbo recalls how Bombur quite literally snatched a potato off his fork. As they arrive back, they are welcomed by an almost empty camp. Balin and Thorin are the only remainders, sitting on the edge in deep conversation.

“Ah, there you two are,” Balin greets with his usual warm smile that peers through his white beard, pausing his conversation with the King. “We had a bit of a struggle, but we managed to save you some.” He bends down, picking up two small bows from behind him. Bilbo and Gailien take the bowls, sending the Dwarf their thanks. It is some type of porridge mix that looks questionable, but if Bombur made it, it cannot be too bad.

“Where were you?” Thorin asks the duo. His hand is planted on his knee, elbow locked out as he scrutinises them.

“I was training Bilbo this morning,” the woman answers. “No use having a sword and not being able to use it.” Thorin nods once, which Gailien takes as approval of her actions. Not that she needs his approval to do things such as this, but it is better than getting a lecture. “Actually Thorin, I had a vision last night.”

The King sits a little taller, his head tilting ever so slightly to the left. “What did you see?” he asks, giving no emotion.

“We take the pass through the Misty Mountains. It was harsh, thunderstorm and rain,” she describes. “But we make it through to a cave. All of us, alive and uninjured. It was hard to see clearly, we seemed to be moving around a lot but as long as we stick to the path, we should be fine.” 

“Thank you,” he says. Gailien smiles kindly, taking his praise. “Take a walk with me.”

It isn’t a request, and Gailien knows this. The words take her in slight surprise, but she nods nonetheless. Thorin stands, his height looming over her by a few inches and he starts walking. Gailien is stuck in her spot for a few moments, briefly glancing to Bilbo and Balin who watch them silently. After realising that Thorin is expecting her to follow, she bounds a few steps to catch up to his side. Her mind runs, wondering what he could want to talk to her about.

They walk in silence for a while under Thorin’s lead until they are well out sight from the camp. “I’m not sure if it is the best idea that you train the Hobbit,” he says, giving her a brief glance from the side of his eye as they continue walking.

“Why not?” Gailien gapes slightly.

“Because if he thinks he can use it, he will,” Thorin replies in his usual smooth tone. “And we cannot afford him to cause us to land in more danger than we are in.” Gailien contemplates his words but disagrees with them.

“Is it not better that he has an idea on how to defend himself than none at all?” Thorin glances at her again. Her words are still light and kind, the tone more curious than anything else. “I will continue training him so can handle himself well enough. You have already been assured that you are not responsible for his fate.”

“You are both apart of my company, and it is my duty to keep its members as safe as possible.” He does well in keeping his tone with her when it is usually easily lost in arguments. Though this is less of an argument and more of a debate, and Gailien does not lose her temper either.

“And I don’t doubt that you take that role seriously,” Gailien replies sincerely. “But you have to have trust in us both.” Thorin stops, turning to her as she dares to challenge him. He waits patiently for her to explain. “My visions may not always be clear, but they show me what the most likely path is, and you need to learn to trust me as I trust them. And Bilbo – he’s left his entire life behind for you and he’s more than willing to learn things.”

Thorin breathes slowly for a moment, staring at her. She shifts, slightly uncomfortable under his strong gaze that doesn’t break from her. Her muscles become antsy before he finally replies. “You are more than you look.”

Gailien’s mouth rounds, tilting her head closer to her shoulder. “I believe that is a compliment, is it not?” Her tone is slightly teasing, in slight disbelief that she has earnt such words from his mouth. If anything, she has been expecting a berating.

“Take it as you will,” he replies in an even tone. He turns back around to continue walking and Gailien follows, not entirely sure if his intended conversation has finished but his lack of anger in her has brightened her mood.

“Do you have any word to when we are leaving?” she questions. Her hands clasp behind her back, a slight skip in her uneven steps as Thorin glides easily next to her.

“Gandalf has informed us to be ready at any moment. I believe he intends for us to leave when there are no eyes on us.”

Gailien snorts shortly. “I’m not surprised. I will bring my things down to the camp so I’m not a hassle.”

“I was not worried,” he quips. She doesn’t think much of the words at first but then realises there may be another meaning behind them. Thorin glances at her from the corner of his eye and observes her frowned features. “I meant that it would be no issue finding you,” he corrects softly. “Dwalin informed me of the…events last night.” Gailien blushes slightly out of the humiliation of both the events and her worry. “While I have no intention of challenging their beliefs, I will not tolerate such gossip between company members. Dori has been spoken to about his behaviour.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I caused any issues,” she rambles slightly, her cheeks heating any more. “Honestly there wasn’t any trouble. I was just worried that your nephews would think differently of me, but they are just in stubborn of thought as any other Dwarf.”

“They are fond of you,” he notes, giving no inclination to his own opinion of his nephews’ opinions.

“As I am them. They have brave hearts and kind souls. It is a rare breed amongst any race.” She smiles fondly at her memories of them. “Their parents have raised them well.”

Thorin’s lips tweak up in a sad momentary smile. “Their mother, my sister has. Their father died in battle when they were young. I’ve helped raised them myself.” Gailien’s heart lurches for them. She knows what it is like to lose a father before their time.

“I can tell.” She laughs softly at her next words. “Dwalin said that they are much like you when you were younger.”

Thorin frowns, his eyes narrowing down at the woman. “You were talking about me? What else did he say?” His defensive tone is a little humorous to her, as though he is worried about Dwalin may have told her.

“Not much,” she says to diffuse his concern. “Just that comparison.” She leans closer to him, daring to nudge his side with her elbow. “Why? What secrets do you carry?” Thorin huffs, nudging her back into her place. Gailien giggles childishly but doesn’t push the topic further, just bathing in the satisfaction that Thorin now has a small smile on his face.

They round a corner that Gailien knows is near the large fountain that Lindir is so fond of sitting near when he studies. But before she can set her sights on it, her world I suddenly covered in blackness. She stumbles slightly as Thorin’s hand presses against her face, covering her eyes.

“What? What is it?” She reaches up to his hand to try and tug it away, but he determinedly keeps it in place. “Thorin!” Her frustration grows as the Dwarf refuses to let her see.

“No,” he snaps. “Just keep them closed.”

Both her hands lift to her face as Thorin’s keeps his hold there, his other hand resting on her back, putting pressure on it as he tries to lead her away. Gailien is now bursting with curiosity at what he is so desperately trying to keep her from seeing. A part of her is telling her to listen to him, but that voice is a whisper compared to the screaming which is telling her to look for herself. “Thorin! Just let me-“ she rips his had down but maybe she should have listened to the whisper. “Oh my…” Thorin groans, grabbing her shoulders and forces her to turn around. But it doesn’t do anything to ease the image now embellished in her brain. The Dwarves are doing what she had hoped, taking a bath. In the fountain. With absolutely no clothes on as they jump off the foundations, running around and having the time of their lives.

“I told you not to look,” Thorin grunts as he keeps pushing her away. Gailien’s initial embarrassment dims as laughter begins to run through her lungs. Her eyes close as it sings freely into the world, her hands cupping her cheeks so they don’t end up slapping anything, or anyone.

“Lindir is not going to be happy if he sees that,” she says between voluminous cackles. “My sight has been stained. Did you not feel the need for a bath also?” Thorin glares at her, still pushing her shoulders away from the scene.

“Not so freely, no.”

“I’m glad, I don’t think I would be able to ever look you in the eye again.” This time, it is Thorin’s turn to blush, but his face doesn’t change from the determination to leave the area. Gailien’s laughter begins to die down as the climb back up the steps. That is, until Lindir and Elrond walk together towards the direction they have come from. One look at the Elf sends her into another fit of laughter.

“What has gotten you so infected with joy?” Lindir questions as they cross paths. Gailien smirks and Thorin’s hands drop from her shoulder, suddenly aware that they are far away enough from the fountain.

“Oh nothing,” Gailien smoothly replies. “Thorin is just quite the jester.” Lindir and Elrond eye the Dwarf whose face is set like stone, a faint remanent of a blush still tinted on his cheeks.

“I’m sure,” Lindir drawls with sarcasm. “Just as I’m sure it wasn’t you who raided our stocks last night.” Gailien smiles innocently.

“You should have better security. Anybody could have snuck in there.” Thorin hides his own smirk at the woman’s retorts as she handles it with an attitude that he can appreciate being thrown at the Elves. “I apologise if my laughter has interrupted your morning walk, please, carry on.” She gestures to the path, stepping slightly to the side.

“Do try to leave some wine, my dear,” Elrond says as they continue walking. “Rivendell is not only holding the Dwarves as guests tonight.” Gailien doesn’t answer but shares a short glance with Thorin at his words. They watch the two Elves walk around the corner and Thorin cannot help but smirk in glee as he is sure they will now see his company in their full glory.

“My conscience is telling me that I should feel bad,” she muses humorously, “but I don’t.”

“Good.”


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Brothers and Bears

As Gailien had promised Thorin, she brought her things down to the Dwarven camp, satisfied with her short rest from them. She awaits with Balin and Bilbo as the Dwarves are presumable still at their bath.

Bilbo is babbling effusively about his pipe-weed which famously originates from the Shire. Gailien listens intently out of politeness, never having found an interest in the topic but he talks with such enthusiasm that Gailien does find herself roped in. It was first grown by a Hobbit named Tobold Hornblower, and ever since, the Shire has been in production as it became more popular. He shares some with Balin who tries it, nodding in approval.

“That is quite nice,” he notes. Behind them, there is the heavy shuffling of unmistakably Dwarven feet. Gailien looks over her shoulder, smiling as the clean Dwarves start settling back in the camp, shredded of their large coats but at least now have their tunics on. Standing, she leaves the Hobbit and older Dwarf to discuss their pipes as she worms her way through their bodies until she finds the brothers.

“It’s nice to not smell two weeks’ worth of dirt and grime anymore,” she chortles. Fili tugs on his overcoat, checking that all his knives are still in place.

“Yes, we had a lovely bath down at this fountain we found,” he says.

“Oh, I saw,” she intones. “You Dwarves have no sense of modesty.” The brothers laugh wildly and Kili even slaps her back.

“You should have joined us,” he teases. Gailien narrows her eyes playfully, slapping the Dwarf’s chest in return. “Would have made our morning even better.”

“I saw you all well enough from far away,” she snorts. “I don’t wish to see it all again up close. I’m truly not trying to match names to bodies. Thankfully, it was all just a blur of figures.” At that moment, Bombur walks past and she eyes him with a shrivelled nose. “Except for a few who I can identity from a league away.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it,” Fili joins in the teasing with a wide smirk.

“I enjoy the knowledge that you ruined Lindir’s morning,” she quips with a forward-tilted head. “You desecrated his favourite place. And as much as I enjoy his friendship, he said some things that have probably earned that tainted sight.”

“Eh, those Elves could sit and watch for all we care,” Kili grunts, now pulling on his own leather coat.

“I’m sure that’s what they want to spend their morning doing,” she drawls out with a slight eye roll but keeps the humour in her tone. “What are the plans for the rest of the day?”

“Kili and I were talking about exploring,” Fili says. “But Thorin doesn’t want us wandering off too far in case we need to leave. It would be better if we had someone who knows the grounds well.”

Gailien doesn’t miss the hint in his tone and words. She shrugs with a small nod, nothing else better to do. “Sure, I know of a few areas we can look around. It’s not terribly interesting but there are a few sights worth searching for nearby.”

“We’ve got nothing else to do,” Kili agrees. “I’ll just let Dwalin know that we’re wandering off. Don’t need Thorin up our hinds about sneaking away or something.” The Dwarf hobbles away to the warrior. Once Kili returns, Gailien takes the pleasure of leading them around the halls of Rivendell. They wander around for a while, mostly talking about nonsense topics. They take more interest in the conversation than what is around them, but she does point out some pretty views every now and then.

“This is nothing compared to the halls of Erebor,” says Kili as they wander through a large hall with decorative columns. It has the typical Elvish design with curvatures and smoothness.

Gailien cocks her head. “You are far too young to have walked to halls of Erebor,” she observes. “How would you know what they look like.” She does not know their exact ages, but she is aware that even Thorin was very young when it happened, so it is very unlikely that they were even born at the time.

Kili shrugs sheepishly. “Thorin used to tells us about them all the time. I grew up envisioning them.” He juts his thumb to the side. “And these are nothing in comparison.”

Gailien smiles sweetly, noting how young he sounds in comparison to all of the other Dwarves. Even Fili holds himself with more age, but he is young as well. Although, Dwarves tend to look the same most of their lives she has found. “Well, we’ll see when we reach it won’t we,” she says to the brother. Kili nods excitedly.

“Thorin thinks that we’re going to have to sneak out,” Fili says as the continue wandering. “Do you think we are going to have to fight if we get caught?” Gailien shakes her head. She isn’t quite sure who Elrond’s new guests are, but her instincts are telling her that they are the people Elrond was referring to when he said there will be some who do not deem their quest wise. It may come to an argument or even a threat of a fight, but she doubts that Elrond will risk men over trying to keep Dwarves from leaving. What are they going to do – keep them here forever?

“No, Gandalf is wiser than that. He will not ask us to leave until he knows that we can leave without issue.” She smiles softly as a young child runs through the halls. They have short dark brown hair, a bright cheeky smile announcing that he is running from someone or something. Sure enough, another runs through the halls after him. A human woman. “Children are a species of their own,” she adds as the Dwarf brothers also watch the mother chasing her child.

“Do you wish to bare your own?” Fili questions.

“I haven’t put much thought to it really,” she answers honestly. Her entire life from the moment of her accident she never really thought about a family. Sure, she played with the idea of love, but Elves typically fall in love only once in their lives. And that type of commitment scares her. “I don’t think I would be able to carry one.” Her short stature does not change the way a child is made in her. She would be putting her own health and the child’s at risk since it would not grow in accordance with her body. “I suppose you would be expected to, as the heir.”

“I am if Thorin does not have his own,” he answers. “But I still have many years left to find someone. And Dwarven woman are not exactly commonfolk.”

“I want two,” Kili pipes in. “Two boys that look just like their mother.” Gailien laughs softly at his eagerness as it seems the young Dwarf has already put quite a bit of thought into the idea.

“And have your spirit I hope,” the woman offers. “My, I can barely imagine either of you being fathers, but I don’t doubt that you will be great at it. What age do Dwarves come of age?”

“Around seventy-five,” Fili answers. “But we are considered battle-ready at thirty.”

“And how old are you both?”

“I’m eighty-two,” Fili says gesturing to himself than to Kili. “Kili is seventy-seven.” Gailien’s mouth drops slightly in horror. Kili is only two years into Dwarven adulthood? No wonder he acts so young. She closes her mouth, not wanting to offend him. Even Fili is only a few years over the line of age. She is far beyond the age of maturity for her race which is around the same age as the Dwarves. “You said you are about four-hundred and sixty, didn’t you?”

“Is that young in Elf years?” Kili questions before she can answer. Gailien nods to Fili’s question.

“Yes, I am around that age. It is young to some,” she answers for Kili. “To Elves such as Elrond and even Gandalf I am but a child in their eyes, but I am many years beyond coming of age.”

“And you have not married?” Fili asks but then changes his expression as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Sorry, I did not mean it the way it came out. I suppose if you are immortal, then you have all the time to find a husband.”

Gailien smiles to assure him that she is not offended. Curiosity is not a bad thing, not in her mind. “I’m not exactly a desired being,” she snorts. “And I am not immortal.”

“You’re not?” Kili asks with a mix of wonder and confusion.

“No, I am only half-or even less Elf and I have no desire to sail West. So, I will die on Middle Earth from a mortal death.” Her tone stays soft, accompanied by a smile to match it. It is not a solemn topic for her, only one of reality which she has come to terms with many years before. Now that the topic is in thought, she knows that an Elven partner is not something that will likely ever happen but to mix blood with another race once again would create a cruel bloodline for the child. “We should go back to camp; we have been out for long enough.”

Xx

“And you made this yourself?”

“Aye, I did.”

Gailien turns the small sculpture over in her hands. It is made of a dark wood, carefully crafted into the shape of a bear. Bofur, with his toymaker hands, has been fiddling for a while to keep his hands sharp and proudly presented it to the woman as she saw him applying the final touches. Her thumb rubs softly over the wood which has just been polished. Everything down to the teeth inside the bear’s open mouth has detail.

“This is amazing, Bofur. No wonder the Dwarves are known for their craftsmanship.” Bofur smiles bashfully, shrugging his shoulders to dismiss the compliment. “I would love to see what you can create when you have all your tools and not just a knife.”

“I would love to show ya’.” Bofur tucks his knife away into his bag. “You can have that if you love it so much. I have no use for it.”

Gailien looks to him wide eyes. “Are you sure?

Bofur waves his hand in front of him. “Yeah of course. I need to space in my pack for the next one anyways.”

She smiles at the Dwarf appreciatively. “Thank you. I should put it away, so I don’t lose it.” Gailien unfolds her legs, skipping to the other side of the camp – which isn’t that big, and places the bear under a few pieces of material. She has found a new cloak for the journey after pestering Lindir for one. He was right-down irritated with her after this morning and she couldn’t blame him, but he settled for the fact that she was also burned with the image. With the wooden bear tucked neatly away, she closes her pack back up and makes her way back into the centre of camp and plants herself back down next to Bofur and Fili.

Fili is combing his hair but leaves the braids in his beard in. She has noticed a few odd things with the Dwarves. For one, they never undid their braided hair – at least, in front of her, they did not. And they never touched their beards. She knows that their beards are of utmost importance to them, so perhaps anything to do with their care is done in privacy.

One thing that she also finds odd but has not had the courage to ask, is Thorin’s beard. He is very capable of growing one as his jaw is fully covered in the thick strands, but he hasn’t let it grow long. All of the other Dwarves, minus Kili who she puts it down to his youth, grow their beards long. The curiosity burns to ask, but she hesitates to ask, knowing that their hair is a very cultural and personal thing. And to ask a King why he does not grow his beard – why she may as well just stab her own foot.

On the topic of hair, she realises that hers is still loose and the strands fall in front of her face. It is beginning to become longer than she would like but she will not cut it just yet. She finishes tying it back just as Gandalf enters the camp, the sun reaching dusk behind him. She has not seen him since the previous night, and he looks no less frazzled than when he left them.

“First light,” he says to Thorin who is to her left, just past Fili.

“First light? That is when we should leave?” Thorin questions. Gandalf nods. His hands on his staff constantly readjusting their grip. Something has not found him well, she observes.

“I will meet you on the path through the Misty Mountains.” Thorin glances briefly to Gailien, recalling her vision of the mountain passage. “I have a meeting to attend to in the morning and it will do well to cover your leaving.” Thorin nods once in a slow firm manner than finalises their discussion and as quickly as he came, the Grey Wizard hobbles away from camp.

“I will never fully understand that man,” Gailien muses. Fili perks a brow with a small huff visible with his shoulders rising.

To her surprise, Thorin is the one to retort. “Sometimes I doubt even he knows what he is doing.” Gailien smirks, leaning back on her hands as the fire is being built in front of her.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Durin’s Beard

And at first light, she is awoken but a hand jostling her shoulder. Her eyes snap open with a deep intake of breath but her muscles loosen as Thorin stands back up, walking away to the next Dwarf along with Dwalin who is kicking Bombur. Gailien rubs her eyes, sitting up. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, the land still cast in shadows.

“You’re lucky,” Kili huffs from his sleeping spot next to her, already awake and sitting up. “I got a boot in the side.” Gailien doesn’t have an answer but a course laugh, as her limbs stretch out. From behind Kili, Fili leans up, a hand on his back.

“I got one in the back,” he grunts. “And Dwalin has hard boots.”

“I know,” she says with exasperation as she rolls up the thin roll. “I had them digging into my shoulders when we were becoming troll dinner. Or breakfast.” She tilts her head in slightly thought. “I’m not really sure what they would call it.” Her shoulders roll, an ever so slight tenderness in them but no bruises had ever formed as she was expecting them to.

Soon enough, their camp is packed onto their backs and the only trace of their existence that will be left is a slight pile of ashy ground from the campfire they had made. And a broken bench that Bombur had collapsed in on their first night. She waits with the brothers for their next move when once again, Thorin approaches her with a straight and stern face. She half-turns to meet him.

“Do you know the best way to leave here unseen?” he questions, Dwalin peering at her over the King’s shoulder. Gailien sucks her lips, racking her brain. There is a side mountain path that is rarely used and not guarded but the thin path makes her hesitate in answering. But the only other paths she knows are the one they came through and the main gates and neither is an option.

“Yes, we can take a side mountain pass.” Her arm and pointer finger extend to point behind them to the large cliff face. “It goes along that. It will take longer than the others, but it will be the safest. In terms of being unseen anyway.” Thorin and Dwalin examine the cliff face.

“We leave now!” His words are a command to the entire company who perk at the sound of their leader’s voice. Last-minute shuffles of packs are seen around as everybody makes sure their things are with them. Gailien eyes Nori’s hands slithering back out of his jacket and she makes a note to check her bag later tonight in case he’s swiped anything of hers.

Thorin looks at her, his eyebrows subtle raising and Gailien realises that he is waiting for her to lead them to the pass. Her mouth rounds an incoherent passing her lips. “Ah, this way,” she calls out with uncertainty, not yet sure if she is speaking to the entire company or just Thorin. It seems no matter as she turns around, checking over her shoulder to find the entire company ready to follow. Readjusting her pack’s straps, she marches onwards.

Thorin stays by her side if a little behind her as she leads them across the courtyards and gardens, watching for prying eyes. None seem to be paying much attention and their escape is made with relative ease. Soon enough, they are on the carved stone steps that lead up to the cliff face. There are no railings or barriers on the side and one wrong step could send them tumbling over the side.

“This is it,” she says. “From here we just follow the path back to the plains and then we head towards the Misty Mountains.” Thorin nods once, stepping in front of her to take the lead back. Gailien follows behind, slowly taking the first step onto the stone but feels the presence of Balin behind her and her pace hastens as to not be the cause of slowing the company. One by one, they climb the steps until it levels out into a rocky, slightly uneven path that continues on an incline. By now, the ground with grass is behind them, and the fall is enough to kill.

Looking behind her, she intends to move to the side and let the more confident paced go in front but realises that the path is much to narrow to risk anything such as that. She turns back around, keeping her steps moving. Her only view is either the back of Thorin’s thick coat and his dark hair cascading down it, the cliff face on her left, or looking out over the side of the path. The height makes her stomach churn, keeping her head set straight. She tries to force interest in something beyond Thorin but besides the rock, he is literally the only thing to look at. It isn’t a bad view, she supposes.

Finally, the path widens as every few steps, the rock is lifted instead of an incline. She feels like she can finally breathe normally again as every step isn’t a gamble. Thorin steps to the side.

“Balin. You should know the paths from here, lead on.”

“Aye,” Balin agrees and Thorin lets more of the company pass. Gailien stops next to him, more so she can fall back next to a more comfortable company than to wait with him. Just a few meters away, Bilbo also pauses, and he looks back over the retreating view of Rivendell with longing.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin says. “I suggest you keep up.” Bilbo nods, falling back in line as he continues moving. As he does so, Gailien also falls back into line just in front of him.

“If we both make it out of this quest alive, I would be glad to escort you back to Rivendell or wherever else you need me to,” she says over her shoulder, offering him a kind and pretty smile.

“I wouldn’t want to bother you, or take you off your path,” the Hobbit denies. She holds a snort. There is no other place for her to go besides her own will. Find another dwelling to take residency on until she also grows tired of that.

“I would be delighted to take you, Bilbo. I enjoy your company and it is no fuss. In fact, it will give me something to do.” Bilbo hesitates but reads her words as sincere.

“Alright, yes. That would be lovely.”

Their conversation carries on lightly as their path finally reaches the top of the cliff face and back onto the smoother plains. She is glad, however much he may not be so, that he has agreed to join the quest. He is a bright young fellow with an interesting length of topics to talk about that she has never considered before. And with no inherited hate towards Elves… well, he is just more pleasant to be around than many of the others.

The day passes over with ease and soon their camp is being made under a large tree that is not overly tall as its energy is spent on width and thickness. The leaves catch all the light, creating a circle of shadow on the side they are making camp on. It smells like an entire forest with just the one tree and Gailien quickly puts her bedroll down next to it, away from her usual spot by the fire.

She would help set up camp, but there isn’t much do besides gather some wood which others have already taken upon themselves and Bombur cooks their food. Most either find a spot on the ground and talk, lie down and the few others keep standing, chatting amongst themselves. Content with her claimed spot, Gailien joins the standing and saunters around the camp lazily. Her legs are not tired, but they are definitely used to riding by this stage and she hasn’t walked so far in many months besides her trip to the Shire.

She finds Fili standing by himself, his brother nowhere in sight. He’s frowning slightly which pikes her interest even more. Her feet change direction until they stand in front of his.

“Is everything alright? Where’s Kili?”

Fili huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine, just Kili being sensitive. I made a joke about his non-existent beard so he’s sulking.” He looks over his shoulder. “I think he’s behind the tree.” Gailien might have felt an urge to scold him for insulting Kili but she wasn’t there and doesn’t know the circumstances. And they are brothers – the banter is typical among siblings. Instead, she feels an urge to talk to the younger brother.

So, she does just that. Slowly turning on her heel, she walks back over near her bedroll but passes it, wandering around the thick dark trunk of the tree. Sure enough, on the other side, Kili sits against the wood, fiddling with a small knife. Silently, she sits down next to him.

Fili’s description of sulking looks correctly as Kili’s face is set in a scowl, digging the blade tip harshly into the dirt, digging up tufts of grass. “Did my brother send you to fetch his knife back?” he asks in a low growl.

“You stole his knife?” Gailien asks, trying to hide her humour for his sake. Kili briefly glances at her, pursing his lips. She can hear Thorin’s voice throwing new commands behind them, but she blurs them out.

“Maybe,” he answers bluntly. “I was going to give it back.” His remark is left half-finished, leaving Gailien to guess the rest.

“But then he teased you,” she says. Kili stretches his jaw but nods, not yet meeting her gaze even though she leans forward to try and gain it. “Beards are very important to Dwarves, aren’t they?”

“That’s an understatement,” he scoffs but adds a touch of laughter to the end as he lets his head finally turn to hold her gaze. “It’s their pride and joy. And Dwarven women love long beards.” Ah, so it is not just the fact that his brother is teasing him. It is the idea that he is unattractive by Dwarf standards.

“I know how you feel,” she offers quietly. “I am anything but Elvish standard of beauty. My hair is short and frankly rather messy.” She picks up her tied back hair which is frizzy and dry. “My voice isn’t elegant, and my skin isn’t clear.” She sighs, pulling a knee up to her chest as the bark scratches at her back. “But some person out there may find me beautiful. I doubt among the Elves but someone. You just have to find that someone who prefers stubble.”

“No Dwarven woman would find me attractive. Not when they compare me to my brother,” he says, his voice and eyes darkening again. Gailien knocks his shoulder lightly with her own.

“Whoever said you have to fall in love with another Dwarf?” she says. “I know that it seems like a forbidden area, but love isn’t something tied down by race.” Kili peers through his lashes at her with scepticism but a longing for some sort of hope. It hurts her heart to see him with so little confidence in himself. “Don’t be afraid to open your heart to whoever you want to.”

“You think so?”

Gailien laughs, nodding her head. “Kili, you are a very handsome Dwarf by my standards, and I grew up with godly looking people, so I know that other woman will think the same.” He brightens at her words, a soft blush displaying on his cheeks as he smiles coyly but then it grows into a playful arrogance.

“You think I’m handsome?” he asks, his eyebrows raising teasingly. Gailien rolls her eyes, snorting slightly but is grateful that she has managed to change his sulky attitude back into something normal.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she retorts, scuffling his hair a little.

“What about Fili? Do you find him attractive?” By now Kili and Gailien are standing back up, preparing to go back to the company.

“I suppose he is,” she answers truthfully but hesitantly. Who knows what is going on in his mind – certainly not her.

“What about Dwalin?” He presses as they begin walking around the tree. “Do you like his rough look?”

Gailien rolls her eyes again. “Lords no.”

“Then what about Thorin?”

“Thorin?” she gasps but keeps her voice quiet now that they are near the camp. “Are you seriously asking me whether I find your uncle attractive or not?” Kili nods as though it is obvious. “I refuse to answer that.” She begins to walk away to stop the conversation as Dwarves begin walking around them.

“I’ll take that as a yes!” Kili calls out loudly. Gailien glares over her shoulder at the Dwarf who grins back at her. “For the record, I think you’re pretty too!” Gailien can’t help letting out a roar of laughter, her hands clapping in front of her as members of the company stare at the both of them. As she looks back around for Fili, she catches Thorin’s eye who is glancing between her and his youngest nephew with confusion. She can only pray that he heard none of their conversation.

“What on Middle Earth were you talking to him about?” Fili questions, coming to her instead. His eyes are narrowed by his brows lifted as he watches Kili smugly talk with Gloin.

“Just got him his confidence back, don’t try to ruin it again,” she says, giving him a pointed look.

“He stole my knife,” he defends pathetically. “And he still hasn’t given it back!”

“He’s probably forgotten now that he has all that smugness in his head. You should watch him, or he might tip over with his ego one day.” Of course, she is purely jesting as she knows that Kili, while a playful Dwarf, is anything but egotistical. In fact, he can be quite humble unless he is mocking confidence.

As the camp settles down for the night, Gailien leans against the tree, running her fingers over the wooden bear again. She peers up through her lashes over the camp, settling her gaze on one Dwarf in particular. And she finds herself thinking that he is rather attractive.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Prophecies of Rings

Their journey through the Caradhas path continues the next morning, bright and early. It seems the knowledge of having a deadline has prompted Thorin to become even antsier about their time spent travelling. Gailien only prays that he doesn’t become paranoid about it since even in his usual mood he can be irritating.

It seems her conversation with Kili last night has drawn him to her more and she couldn’t shake the Dwarf from her heels if she wanted to – not that she does. She loves his company and lets him talk wildly about whatever comes to his mind and he is content with her listening to his rambles. Perhaps it is the fact that he knows she doesn’t think little of him for his beard, maybe it has been on his mind for a while. Or perhaps not, and he’s just been in a better mood than the previous few nights with the Elves.

Whatever it is, Gailien is fond of the distraction as she can’t help but stare at the back of another certain Dwarf at the head of the company. She never really put much thought – okay, no that is a lie. She noticed the first time she met him, but the thought became buried deep in her mind as it hasn’t been relative to absolutely anything. But now, the pesky little Dwarf next to her has brought it back up and she cannot push it (yeet it) out of her mind again.

Not to mention that there is absolutely nothing to do with the thought besides admiring from afar. Her dirty little secret that she can use to distract herself with on nights of boredom. As long as anybody doesn’t find out. And talking about staring – she breaks her gaze away from the front of the company and back to Kili at her side. The two are the only ones who have made the effort to converse while they travel as the rest of them are spread out along the plain.

“I’m not sure if you are allowed to tell me,” she says once Kili takes a pause from speaking. “But I was wondering about Dwarf braids. I was wondering if any of them had meanings?” Kili’s eyes light at the subject – another thing he can talk a lot about.

“They do,” he replies, adjusting the pack on his back. They are trekking along the side of a hill, with a wonderous green view and honestly one of her favourites so far. “A lot of them are used to display status, mostly with royals and nobles. Like Fili’s. It’s more to do with the beads than the actual way it’s braided if anything. He made his own just before he came of age then on his seventy-fifth birthday, he started wearing them.”

“Do you all make your own?”

“Usually. Or they're handed down from parent to child. Or the main other reason is to display courtship status.”

“Really?” Gailien questions with intrigue. She always had the idea that their braids – or beads, meant something but they seem to have an entire culture themselves. “I never realised.”

Kili nods, pointing out to Gloin who is a few Dwarves in front of them. “If you ever get close enough, have a look at his beads. They have the name of his wife inscribed on them. There is no set way to display courtship – it’s up to the couple themselves. Some, like Gloin, make their wives beads with their own name and wear their wives’ names. I’ve known others to just wear the other’s beads, ones that are important to them. Like family heirlooms.”

Gailien plays with a few strands of hair that are held in her ponytail, suddenly having an urge to braid her own hair. “You don’t wear any?”

Kili shakes his head, scratching his neck. “I haven’t made any yet.” Probably wants to wait until he has a beard, she thinks. 

She can’t stop the question from leaving her mouth, but her curiosity is too much to handle. “Are any of the other Dwarves married?” None of them has spoken about any wives, even Gloin had not said anything. Gailien has never met a Dwarven woman – or maybe she has and thought they were a man. Apparently, they have facial hair as well and often present as a man when travelling.

Kili squints, looking back over his shoulder than forward again as he looks over the company. “Not that I know of.” A slight hint of satisfaction grows in her stomach. “Why? Interested?”

“No,” she snorts defensively. “They just don’t talk about woman that much and I’m surprised since Elves are often speaking proudly of their partners.”

“Dwarven woman aren’t that common so we tend to be protective over them,” he answers with a small shrug. “But we only marry once so I don’t see why it’s a thing after marriage.” Possessive over their women? Well, that sounds about right with the rest of Dwarven nature. Stubborn and jealous.

“Why am I not surprised?” she teases with a side-eye to the Dwarf. Kili huffs playfully but agrees to her assessment. “Elves only marry once as well but we give rings to one another and they must be betrothed for a least a year but then can choose to revoke it at any time until they marry.”

“Most Dwarves don’t marry. They either love their work too much or can’t have the one they want.” The little flame of hope slowly burns out. A childish fantasy – but something she would have liked to play on for a while. It has been many years since she has felt this way.

Once again, night falls and their camp is set up. Gailien sits with Bilbo but her mind and heart are not in the conversation he tries to keep going himself. Eventually, the Hobbit realises that she’s just distracted, not disinterested in his topic so he quietens back down and stops trying to see what pikes her mind. Her fingers trace shapes in the dirt, her cheek being squished by her palm with her elbow pressing into her knee. She looks lost in troubled thought. He debates asking her, but he recognises that she wants to be in her thoughts and leaves her to do so.

“I think I’m going to get an early night,” she mumbles to whoever bothers to listen. Gailien isn’t so much upset at anything, just tired after the day's long walk and her mind has been running as long as her legs have been walking and sleep sounds like a safe haven right no.

A few eyes flicker to her as she stands and begins to walk across camp to her bedroll. She saunters over their stretched-out legs, their bellies full from dinner. Bombur has been using the meat they saved from Rivendell since it would be going off in a day or two. Her leg lifts to step over Fili’s foot but mid-step, her entire body stiffens and her eyes glaze over her.

Fili, not realising yet what has happened, sits up. “Gailien?” His foot knocks into hers as he moves. Gailien, unable to sense her own body is knocked to the side from the pressure on her leg. Her arms are out wide from trying to balance herself and remain stiff in place as she falls. Fili scrambles forward to try and catch her but his reaction is slow, and she hits the ground with a thud. The sound and movement catch the gaze of the rest of the camp.

“Her arm!”

Fili snaps his head to the woman’s arm at his uncle’s shout and leaps forward. Her arm has landed on the side of the fire pit, being licked by the flame but fortunately enough, she has just missed the brunt of the heat. He tugs her body away from the fire, her eyes still wide open and unfocused as she sees something out of her own body.

“Oin!”

Fili rolls her body over, carefully moving the arm, so it doesn’t smack against the ground. Already her forearm is bright red, blistering slightly in places. Thorin kneels on her other side, cursing in his native tongue as Oin also comes over to the woman. The healer inspects the arm.

“I’ll put a salve on it and wrap it up. It’s only a surface burn.” Thorin nods in appreciation as the Dwarf wanders back to his things. He taps the woman’s cheeks to see if he can force her out of her trance but stops after a few, realising that she may be seeing something important.

“Is she alright?” Thorin turns his head over his shoulder to see the Hobbit has wandered over, peering over the King.

“She’ll be fine,” he answers, trying to hide concern but also his frustration. Oin returns with the salve and bandages. Fili holds the arm up for him while he applies it and Thorin stays to ensure that his company member is well – and waiting for her to come back to the present.

In Gailien’s mind, she is seeing things that are far, far into the future. The vision began at Bag End, with an elder Hobbit but she instantly recognised him. And that is when she realised that her vision will not come for years to pass but their Hobbit will survive. There are scenes that she recognises, like Gondor and Rivendell… and Mordor. Not that she has ever been there herself, but no other place on Middle Earth could look like that. And for a second – just a second, she got a glimpse of a golden ring.

Then it all fades away, replaced by three faces hovering over her. Her arm – her free one, moves outwards, ready to push them away but relaxes as the faces become familiar. Her arm burns, but also has something cool placed over it.

“Your back?” Fili questions with a small smile. She nods slowly, mostly confused. “You tripped - my fault, and your arm landed near the fire.” She glances at her sore arm which is now wrapped up in a bandage that Oin is tying off. “You’ll be fine.”

Still stuck on what she saw, words struggle to leave her lips. Pushing herself up with her good arm, she blinks a few times, registering the past few minutes over. “What did you see?” Thorin questions. Of course, that is the only thing he is worried about. She refrains from rolling her eyes. Can’t even ask how she feels.

“Nothing that concerns the company,” she answers, now in a fouler mood than before. “Thank you, Oin." She pulls her arm back from Fili’s gentle hold, pulling it towards her chest. Her sleeve had thankfully been pushed back from sitting so close to the fire, leaving it fully intact. It hurts, but it will be and more of an annoyance than anything. But then a hand rests on her shoulder, their fingers digging slightly to hold her in place.

“Are you certain?” Thorin questions in a low growl. Gailien glares at him, no longer feeling as she did through the day. Sleep, that is all she wants right now.

“Unless this quest continues for another fifty years or so, then I’m sure,” she snaps back, barely thinking of the consequences of her actions but there isn’t anything less she could care about right now. Thorin’s hand lifts, his neck pulling back at her tone but remains silent. She turns back around to face the company. Kili and the Bilbo are standing nearby watching quietly. Not having the energy to smile at them, she walks forward until she reaches her bedroll.

Fili, wanting to make sure she is actually alright, makes a step forward towards her but Thorin’s hand rises, tapping against his chest. “Let her sleep,” his uncle says softly so the rest of the company doesn’t hear his words. “What she saw might not concern us, but she obviously needs time to herself. Tell your brother the same, he didn’t leave her alone today.”

Fili nods reluctantly, wandering over to his brother instead. Thorin watches as she settles under her thin cover, already with her eyes closed.

Gailien stays awake for many hours after, well into the night. Her mind doesn’t stop playing over the scenes again. There were people she doesn’t recognise – and a few she does. Bilbo’s grey hair, Bag End. More Hobbits. Then there was a war. There was bloodshed and a red sun. Bodies lying on top of bodies surrounded by rubble and smoke. If this is the future, does she really want to live to experience it? Maybe she should sail West and live an immortal life there.

But that is the coward’s way in her mind. Sailing West to escape. No. If there is to be a war, she will stand and fight. And she is the perfect person to fight. She has the skills but lacks the family to care if she dies. A death that does not equal more heartache, but just another fallen body. But she does not want to be that. She wants people to care if she is hurt, if’s she is missing. Things that she hasn’t had in years.

But more importantly, she wants something to fight for. She wants to fight for these Dwarves, for Thorin. Yet, he still only sees her as an asset and not an actual member.

Silent tears drop down her cheeks, her eyes tightly screwed shut. There are only two people awake this far into the night, herself being one, and the person on watch. But the Dwarf on watch isn’t spying their surroundings.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Thunder Battles

Once morning comes around, although running on little sleep, Gailien’s mood has risen back up and she apologises to Fili for being so short last night. He brushes it off, saying it was his fault anyway. She debates whether she should apologise to Thorin for being snappish but reasons that she has nothing truly to apologise for.

They trek along a thin ridge of a large hill which sets her nerves on edge but with careful footwork, she avoids loose rocks and they make it to the mountain path. The path is known to be dangerous in good weather, with a windy path along its side leading through the mountains, but as Gailien glances to the sky, her cheek is bitten between her teeth as grey storm clouds start rolling in. There is a possibility that the wind will change and send the large grey forms away from their path, but the wind has been blowing in the same direction for the past three days and she doubts that it will begin to change now.

“Better keep up.” Gailien’s head falls back down, Fili standing in front of her, his body half-turned to face her. She’s still walking but her pace has slowed, putting a short distance between them and the next Dwarf is on her heels. Following his advice, her pace quickens to close the gap and she keeps close to the blonde Dwarf.

“Looks like a storm is brewing,” she says in an even tone, trying to not to portray her concern. Memories of the vision she had a few nights ago replays. She had seen a storm, while they are on the mountain. There is no way to avoid it now. “Hopefully it won’t be too bad.”

Fili’s gaze lingers on the sky for a few moments. “Ah,” he grunts. “A small storm won’t hurt us.” She forces herself to smile, giving the Dwarf a look of agreement. She tries to remember that she has seen them all safe, in the cave. But things can change. So, she just has to try not changing things.

“Of course not,” she mumbles to herself.

A small storm wouldn’t hurt them but the one that they are cursed with is no small storm in any matter. It starts with the wind, high mountain wind that blows cold air over their skin. By now, the path is treacherous, and her hands are planted on the rocky side as a sort of physical and mental grounding for herself. She doesn’t even dare try and reach for her cloak.

Heights were once an adventurous find. To play on the edge of danger as a child was exhilarating and one her favourite times. Her brother would play with her too and they would rest on the edge, letting their feet dangle towards whatever was underneath it. Of course, they always had their mother’s warning ringing in the back of their mind – ‘don’t wander to close to the edge.’ But when do children ever listen to their mothers? Especially ones adventurous as those two.

But now she’s had experience with what a fall from a height can do and she has no intention of going through it again. And now with her uneven walk, her attention is solely on her feet and the person in front of her which is still the blond prince.

And then the rain starts. It starts off as a slow trickle and for a short while, she is given a hope that this is all that there will be. She smiles to Fili who glances back at her every now and then as the droplets roll over the contours of her face. The two Dwarf princes are lucky enough to have hoods without the flapping material of the rest of a normal cloak but Gailien isn’t so lucky as her only protection is still in her bag and almost useless against this wind and rain. Even Bofur behind her has his hat.

But then there is also Bilbo, still only with his red jacket. His reddish hair sticks to his face, darkened by the water and he also, doesn’t seem fond of heights. She feels sorry for him, but there is nothing she can do but keep moving forward and hope that they find shelter, or the storm eases.

Fate is against them as the storm does anything but ease. Heavy rain pelts against them, making it hard to see and hear. Not to mention the ground is becoming slippery which she finds out for herself when her boot steps on a surface stone which slides easily from underneath her with all the water. A small yelp passer her lips as her hands scrap against the wall to find a grip but Fili’s arm reaches back, grabbing her jacket to stop her from falling any more.

Any brave façade she had put on before disappears as her heart pounds. It’s too high. Too narrow of a path. She needs to get off.

“Scared of heights?” She struggles to hear him over the sounds of nature, but he speaks loudly enough. She knows her face holds a look of terror as she nods and as cowardly as it sounds, she moves forward so she is closer to him. Just in case. He’s something to hold if she falls – not that she wants to bring him down. Instead of answering, she nods quickly. “Me too.”

Gailien isn’t sure if she believes that or he is just saying so to make her feel better, but truth or lie, it is an odd sort of comfort that she welcomes. To know that you’re not alone in what you feel. His hand extends and Gailien willingly grips it as the move at a slow pace around bends, watching for crumbling stone.

It’s dark and if one were to wake up just now, they would think it is night as no sun reaches the earth through the thick cloud forms. Hair sticks to her head and neck as her eyes blink rapidly to wash the constant drip of water out of them. And not to mention constantly spitting or swallowing water that finds its way into her mouth.

“Alright, hold on!” Thorin cries from the front of the group.

There is another cry of fear from behind her. Bilbo has slipped and his body begins to fall forwards as his arms reach out to grab something – anything. Her heart stops for a moment, beginning to pull away from Fili but Bofur and Dwalin react quickly enough, pulling the Hobbit back against the stone wall.

“We must find shelter!” Thorin calls out again. He also recalls Gailien’s vision; she had said something about finding a cave.

Dwalin then spots something in the distance. “Look out!” The words are so loud and strangled, that Gailien struggles to understand what he is saying but it is waste energy anyway. Every single head snaps to the sky as a large boulder flies through it. The scene looks impossible – something so heavy flying with such ease.

And then it collides with the stone above them, shattering into smaller, but no less deadly shards of rock. The mountain trembles slightly under their feet and Gailien pulls Fili back against the wall. Bofur yells something incoherent from next to her as she leans forward slightly, making sure that Kili is following Fili’s lead. Finding him pressed up against the stone, she moves back, holding her head slightly forward to not be the victim of smashing it if they are shaken around again.

She can’t help but look out to the front of the company and assures herself that their leader is safe. The rock tumbles over them, a few smaller ones bouncing off their heads and shoulders, but the larger ones rebound off the mountain, flying straight over them and into whatever dark abyss lays below them. More stone she would guess.

“This is no thunderstorm! Balin exclaims. “It’s a thunder-battle! Look!” The company look back out to where the stone was thrown from and to their horror, a large humanoid figure made of stone is standing. A stone giant. She has thought them legends till now, or creatures that no longer wake in this age. The stone giant moves slowly but with a force much greater than anything she has ever seen. It picks up another stone with ease.

“Well bless me,” Bofur cries from behind her, “The legends are true! Giants! Stone Giants!” He stands forward on the ledge, watching as the mighty creature throws the stone through the air.

“Bofur!” Her voice is strangled and croaky, barely heard through the storm but Thorin is on the same run of thought and his voice is loud, well heard by all ears.

“Take cover, you fool!” Bofur retreats back into the mountain as the stone crashes against a second mountain giant behind them. They are caught in the middle. The debris of the second throw pours down on them, their ledge breaking even further and their heels back against the stone wall. Her grip on Fili doesn’t falter as she continues to hold him back. She wishes she were between them so she could see Kili as well.

Then the ground underneath them begins to rumble, but not from any stone landing on their structure. No, the ground begins to crack and move and the realisation hits.

“We’re on one!”

The Dwarves that hear her begin to panic as the rock moves side-ways. “What’s happening?” Kili. Her head snaps over Fili’s shoulder as Kili begins to move further away.

“Kili!” She reaches out fruitlessly to him. The young Dwarf looks terrified as he and his brother are separated, a split between two halves of the company. There’s nothing she can do to reach him and she doesn’t know which side is safer. The split grows until it becomes very evident that they have taken a path along the knees of a stone giant who is finally awakening to join the battle.

The other half move further and further away. The first stone giant moves closer, standing at its full height. They watch in a mixture of shock and disbelief as it rears its head back, then throws it forward to headbutt the stone giant that they stand on. The force sends them backwards as the giant’s knees bend unbalanced. The other half of the company is moved out of sight.

“Hold on!” Dwalin warns and Gailien lets go of Fili as they both lean as far back into the mountain as they can. Her feet push against the ground in front of her, sliding ever so slightly as they tip.

It’s hard to comprehend what is going on in the battle and predict which way they are going to move next so all they can do is try to hold themselves steady until a path is found. The first giant is knocked aware from theirs, but a moment later, the second appears with a rock in its hand. They watch as it sails through the air. She can’t see where it lands, but within moments, another giant stone is landing only meters above them and they are showered in stone shards once again. Her arm burns from being so carelessly thrown about, but it feels numb against the terror that they currently face.

Their stone giant begins to fall.

The leg they stand on begins to move through the air once again and screams pass her lips as they tilt and turn. “I’m going to die,” she mumbles to herself between her screams. They begin falling towards the right, and for a brief moment, they cross with the other half who are safely standing on a stone ledge, not belonging to any living stone. Thorin is there. No, they have to survive this – she’s seen it.

“We’re going to make it!” she cries as loud as possible to Fili. Fili briefly glances at her with doubtful eyes. “We are!” she repeats. The knee begins to fall forward, and they head directly for the mountain. It looks as though they are going to be squashed by stone, but she can see it. A ledge.

Their screams become deafening as they soar through the air towards it. And then the stone clashes and the force sends them tumbling forward. They roll and tumble, legs kicking faces and bodies being squashed but they make it. Screams turn to grunts and groans but every single one of them are alive.

Gailien laughs in disbelief, knocking Fili’s shoulders. “I told you so!” Fili looks to be in a state of disbelief himself, barely sitting up. A familiar voice tears through the air but its owner isn’t visible for a few more seconds. Thorin and the rest of the company arrive and Gailien sighs slowly. All safe.

“We’re alright! We’re alive!” Balin exclaims.

“Where’s Bilbo?” Bofur cries. “Where’s the Hobbit?” Her short moment of peace blast into smithereens as her own eyes cannot find the curly-haired man.

“Bilbo?!” her voice tears out as she races back to her feet. Along with a few other Dwarves, she runs to the edge. Bilbo is hanging on for dear life just over it, gripping a small ledge from a protrusion in the rock.

“Get him!” Thorin commands. Not needing to be told at all. Gailien and Bofur lean over the edge, extending their hands down.

“Grab my hand! Bilbo!” Bofur calls down desperately. “Come on and take it!” But he’s just out of reach unless he wants to risk swinging himself up and she doubts he will be able to pull himself. His hand slips and Gailien jolts forward even more, barely hanging over the edge herself but Bilbo catches another rock.

Thorin jumps over the edge, swinging down and reach for the Hobbit himself. As the Hobbit is safely returned to them, Gailien swoops him up and moves away from the ledge, dragging him until he’s by the back of the group. She lets him go as she hears Dwalin’s grunts who is now also trying to pull someone up. Gailien runs forward but by the time she reaches him, Thorin is safely pulled back over the edge.

She has a sudden urge to hug him and is not quite sure if she could resist if it isn’t for Dwalin’s next words. “I thought we’d lost our burglar,” he says in a playful growl but Thorin’s own voice is set deep.

“He’s been lost ever since he left home. He should have never have come. He has no place amongst us.” Gailien is hurt by his words as though they are aimed at her. The sudden urge to show him any affection is lost as her feet take her back to the Hobbit’s side. “Dwalin!”

Bilbo is very visible hurt by their leader’s comments and Gailien forces herself to hold her own emotion for his sake. She bends down, offering him and hand which he takes with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Once he is on his feet, her eyes search for another member, but they find her first.

Kili almost sends her on her backside as he embraces her in a tight hug and as soon as she realises who it is, her arms encircle him just as tightly. “That was terrifying,” she admits as they lean back. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Me?” he gapes. “We thought you had been smashed! I was imagining finding you all as crushed bones.” Gailien shrivels her nose at the image, glad that it isn’t how she has met her demise. Kili’s pats her back and they follow the rest of the Dwarves into the cave Thorin has found. She dumps her pack on the ground by the edge.

Everything feels just that little bit right again. Until a finger is being shoved in her face.

“You!”


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Test of Trust

“You!”

Thorin glares at her, a finger pointing at her like she is the reason for all his problems. It is so unexpected that it catches her off guard and words barely come out of her throat. “Me?” she croaks. Thorin doesn’t back down and takes another few thundering steps towards her. The other company members are frozen in their spots, like owls being caught in the night.

“Yes, you!” His hand drops down to his side, but his actions are no less threatening and Gailien’s brain racks with confusion. “You couldn’t see those stone giants in those visions of yours. You said you saw us on the mountain pass, that you saw a thunderstorm, but you never mentioned stone giants! We could have died! Fili and Kili could have died!”

The accusation creates a hot flame of anger that burns through her muscles hotter than the burns on her arm. How dare he accuse her of intentionally putting them in harm's way. “I told you exactly what I saw Thorin Oakenshield!” she counters in the same loud growl. “I had no idea that the stone giants were still alive and if I had, do you really think I would put the lives of the company – the lives of your nephews at risk like that!”

Fili steps forward slightly, wanting to put an end to the argument. “Thorin, she was terrified. You should have-“

Thorin cuts him off but doesn’t move his beady eyes from the woman. “Enough Fili!” Fili backs down reluctantly at the order. That tone of voice is rarely used on him. “You’ve been nothing but a hassle to the company. Hurting yourself! You’ve put yourself in danger because of these visions! We’d be better off without you here.”

The sharp sting catches the back of her throat and she wills her eyes not to shed any tears. But this is not something she will back down. Not until she has said everything that she wants to say. “I’ve saved your life!” It is her time to throw a pointed finger at him. Thorin narrows his eyes in confusion. “I’ve saved your stupid life and you don’t even know it! Back before Rivendell, I didn’t see us with the Elves.” She takes a daring step forward, putting only two more paces between them. The eyes of the company flicker between the two as the woman stands up to the taller Dwarf. “I saw you being slaughtered by the Orcs because you were too stubborn to follow Gandalf! And not only did I see you die – Kili, Bilbo, Balin!” Her voice stretches in pain at the memory. Thorin stays silent so she continues her built-up emotion. Kili’s mouth hangs open slightly. “I had to watch them die!” A single tear drops from her eye, but it blends in with the raindrops still on her face. “I told you about the trolls and you didn’t listen to me! I told you exactly what I saw here on the mountain, I said we would find a cave with everybody safe. Will I have to beg and scream for you to listen to me every single time?!”

No one has dared step forward since Fili and even Thorin now seems at lost for words.

“You think I’m here for my own sake?” she questions, placing a hand on her chest. “I’m here because Gandalf asked me to and when I met you, I was naïve enough to lie for you because I didn’t want the rest to believe that you had dismissed a potential danger. I believed in you! I thought that you had just made a mistake, but you have never trusted me, and you never will. So, you’re right, you are better off without me here because nothing I say will ever earn your trust. My words mean nothing to you and I’m putting my life at risk for no reason at all.”

Not wanting to hear what he has to say anymore, she shakes her head in resignation and turns on her heels. Marching forward, she twists her shoulders not to barge into the silent brothers, brushing past them and a few other Dwarves before reaching the entrance to the cave. The rain starts pelting on her once again, but it only helps cool off her burning skin.

She isn’t going to leave. No. No matter how useless Thorin may deem her, she still cares for some of the Dwarves. And Bilbo. Kili, Fili, Bilbo, Bofur, even Dwalin and Ori. Even if it means she will have to sleep away from camp, not speak or share their food. This quest is dangerous, and she’ll be damned before she willingly walks away from them. She signed her name on that line and maybe she is just as stubborn as the Dwarves, but she will see this to the end if only to protect them.

Gailien lets her legs fold underneath her, resting her back against the mountainside just a few meters from the entrance. The rain is more of an annoyance than anything, and she would rather be inside the cave than here. She just needs time to think, to let Thorin cool off before she returns. Time to sulk. She laughs pathetically to herself, wondering who Gandalf who be madder at, her or Thorin.

Inside the cavern, silence still reigns and Bilbo stares at the entrance that she has just walked out of, wondering if he should follow. Thorin stands breathing slowly, his eyes directed at the ground in deep thought. The first one to move is Kili. He turns around and begins marching towards the entrance but a heavy hand lays on his shoulder, pulling him back. Thorin pulls his nephew back to his brother. “But Gailien-“ Kili begins to protest.

“Stay here,” Thorin grunts softly then to the astonishment of the rest of the company, Thorin begins stalking out of the cave himself. He sighs as the rain begins to hit him again, but he ignores it as he looks towards the path, finding her not there. He huffs, knowing that he is going to have to catch up to her and he begins marching forward to do so but a flicker of pale skin shows in the corner of his eye. His step pauses as his head turns, finding Gailien, not running away from them, but with her eyes closed, leaning against the mountain. His direction changes slowly and he begins carefully stepping forward to her.

“Should we let Thorin out there with her alone?” Bilbo wonders out loud back in the cave as he waits for anybody else to do something, but they all seem stiff. His words seem to break the invisible tension and they begin to move once again.

“I think she just proved that she can handle herself,” Dwalin smirks slightly. “And she won’t go far.” His arms are crossed, one of his legs propped out in a position of comfort.

“You don’t think she’s leaving?” Fili asks, frowning at the older warrior. Dwalin shakes his head.

“Nah. Just cooling off I reckon,” he grunts. “She’s a loyal thing. Besides, her pack is still here.” He gestures to the wall, and sure enough, all her belongings are still neatly tucked away in the small pack inside the cave. Dwalin may have doubted her loyalty before, but that night in Rivendell had proven to him that her loyalty is as fierce as a Dwarf’s.

Back outside, Gailien keeps her eyes shut as someone sits next to her. She tries to breathe slowly, willing her body to relax its muscles. Thorin settles down next to her, also taking a few moments to breath. He hasn’t thought about what he is going to say.

“You’re right,” he says eventually. Gailien’s eyes snap open. This is the voice she least expected to hear and her mind is suspended in a few moments of disbelief at the words that match the voice. They aren’t something she has ever thought would come from his mouth, let alone said towards her after the past events. All she can do is stare at him; her mind running blank. Thorin stares out past the edge of the ledge but glances at her from the corner of his vision.

‘I’m right.’ The two words bounce around her head like children after dessert. The king not only followed her out but now sits with her in the rain.

“You’re not a hassle,” he continues after her silence. His voice is smooth, nothing like the rough edge he had back in the cave. “I told you that back in Rivendell and I meant it. I was just angry. Angry that we were at the mercy of something we couldn’t fight, and I need to put a blame on somebody. It would have probably been at Gandalf if he were here.” That small joke earns the tiniest tweak in the corner of her lips. One that is noticed by the King. “You have proven to be loyal to the company. To me. Dwalin trusts you, my nephews, Balin, Gandalf.”

Their eyes finally meet and Gailien is drowning in the sincerity in them. She takes every word he says, holding it close to her heart. She doesn’t want to be angry at him. Her beliefs still hold true in him – that it was only a matter of built-up emotions.

“You can leave if you wish to,” he offers quietly, barely being heard over the rain. “I just wish to offer an apology for my words.” Gailien blinks through the rain, shaking her head.

“I don’t want your apologies,” she speaks for the first time. Thorin is perplexed; her tone holds no bite and he doesn’t know how to take her words. “I want your trust, Thorin.”

As if she couldn’t be any more surprised today. Thorin holds out his hand to her. “And you have it.” The rain continues to pour on them as they stare at each other, gauging the other’s expression. And her hand moves, slowly, but it moves until her fingers brush over his palm. Thorin’s fingers wrap around her hand and in that moment, a silent settlement is made. Thorin stands, pulling the woman up as he does. “Let’s get out of this forsaken rain,” he mutters, his voice tinted in mirth. “Haven’t seen when it ends, have you?”

Gailien laughs silently, shaking her head. It is a simple question, but she sees it as his way of solidifying his trust, to show her that he means his words. “No, but I think we’ve earnt a short break after today.” Thorin gives a half-smile, dropping her hand.

“I suppose we’ll have to,” he agrees. Then together, they both walk back into the cave. The Dwarves halt mid-movement once again as all heads turn towards them. Thorin’s eyes glaze over them all with a short but meaningful look and the Dwarves return to their work. Whatever happened out there, they would not know, and it is not to be questioned. “No fires tonight,” he says as Gloin is already trying to make one. “Not in this place. Get some sleep and we leave at first light.”

“We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us,” Balin protests. “That was the plan.”

“Plans change. Bofur, take the first watch.”

Bofur’s eyes linger on the King for a few moments, wanting to get sleep himself but nods, nonetheless. Most of the Dwarves find spots quickly enough and Gailien picks her pack back up and worms through the company so she can be further towards the back where the most heat will accumulate.

“We have a spot for you.” Gailien smiles as Kili gestures over his shoulder. She follows him over to where he and his brother have set their bedrolls near the wall. Her knees hit the ground and begin taking out her own. “Did you really see me die?”

Her eyes stay on her bedroll, nodding. The vision was horrible and not something she willingly recalls. “Yes, I did. But I stopped it.” Kili sits, fiddling with his bow at, unsettled by the idea that he may have brushed fingers with death. Gailien stops unrolling the material, laying a hand on his leg. “The reason I didn’t leave is because I’m here to stop that from happening. Not to you, Fili-“ Fili looks up at his name “-Thorin, not to anybody here. And as long as I can, I will do everything I can to stop harm from coming to us.”

“We don’t want harm finding you either, lass,” Fili exhales.

“I know you don’t. Or you would a questionable friend,” she teases lightly, continuing to unravel her roll. The brothers chuckle, settling into their own rolls.

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that she lied about the trolls!” Dori exclaims suddenly. Gailien’s cheeks burn, making no move to defend herself. “How can we believe anything she says.”

Thorin, who is still standing, slowly walks through to camp until he stands in the middle of the Dwarves. “She did so for my sake. It was my mistake and I take responsibility for what happened with the trolls. If you do not trust her, then you do not trust me.” Dori stays silent, shuffling back into his seat as Thorin’s eyes leer over the company, almost daring another to speak up. Finally, they rest on her, giving her the tiniest nod which is met with her small smile.

There is a quiet murmur through the camp, nothing like the usual chatter over a campfire. No one is truly in the mood to talk as sleep sings to almost all of them.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Down into Goblin Town

As much as she wants to, Gailien just can’t find sleep even though she has been searching for in the last few hours. And hers is not the only mind running. Bilbo has been debating himself ever since Thorin spat the words he knows as truth to him. What is he doing on this quest? A Hobbit? He has a home, a safe little spot where he can have his own food and warmth.

Huffing quietly, Gailien sits up, letting her cover fall off of her shoulders. Kili and Fili are dead asleep, snoring slightly. Not wanting to wake them, she slowly crawls out of her bedroll, wishing on her Elven blood for a light foot. Bofur will still be on watch, and if she cannot sleep, then some company will do good.

Tiptoeing over the rest of the company, who are squashed together in the small cave she potters over to Bofur who sits near the entrance. She smiles in greeting, not wanting to talk amongst the sleeping Dwarves and Bofur shuffles to the side so she has some space.

“You alright?” Bofur whispers under his breath. Gailien has always loved Bofur’s company. He’s easy to talk to. He’s reasonable and logical, a joyful soul. She nods, keeping the subtle smile.

“I’m fine,” she answers. “Just couldn’t get to sleep.”

“That’s not what I’m asking about.”

“And that is fine as well,” she answers honestly. “We were both tired and angry. And I think we got out everything that’s been building up.” She lets out a chesty laugh. Bofur nods, but another thing plays in his mind.

“You said you lied about the trolls. That you saw them?” Bofur prompts. Gailien winces with tight lips. “But you told Thorin? Why’d you lie?” Gailien crosses her arms tightly, her shirt still slightly damp and the cool air at the front of the cave not as friendly as it was near her bedroll.

“I did it for Thorin,” she confesses. “He’s not perfect, he makes mistakes and we hadn’t built up any trust with each other. I didn’t want any arguments or doubts in the company. It was a spur of the moment decision really. And I didn’t want the company thinking I was withholding information either, I just… only told Thorin.”

“Well, I can’t speak for everyone here but I believe that you did what you thought was best and I can’t ask for anything more,” he says, giving her a warm half-smile.

“Thank you,” Gailien replies sincerely. “Really. It’s comforting to know you don’t think ill of me because of it. As you said, I was only trying to do what I thought was right at the time.”

“Well if Thorin doesn’t ever listen to you in the future, be sure to tell me and I’ll knock some sense into him,” he jokes, holding up and clenched fist. She laughs, a little too loudly and she hastily quietens herself back down. She glances over to the sleeping King. Well, the King whose eyes are closed but his mind wide awake.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do it myself now,” she jests. “But I don’t think I need to worry anymore. He knows where my loyalties lie.”

“I won’t lie, lass,” he says, leaning in close as though to tell her a secret. “When he went out after you, a part of me was scared he was going to throw you off the side.” Gailien snorts, a soft smirk playing in her lips. He could try, but she would have gone down kicking and screaming. “You gave him a good snapping.”

“He deserved it after what he said to Bilbo. I just hope the Hobbit has taken his words to heart.”

Xx

Bofur and Gailien sit in comfortable silence for the next hour or so, spending watch together. It isn’t an exciting job and Gailien begins to feel tired but her behind stays planted next to Bofur, not wanting to go to sleep in front of him. She wishes they had a fire, just to add a touch of light and warmth but Thorin was right to not let them have one. The Misty Mountains are home to some vile creatures.

She looks at her burnt arm which now has the sleeve pulled over it but bandages poking out through the end over her wrist. It would have been a good idea for Oin to check them before since they weren’t exactly cared for properly today and no doubt agitated but they would be fine till tomorrow.

Her mind also doesn’t move from the Dwarf king. He went out after her and apologised. After she yelled at him in front of the entire company. She may not like what he has said to Bilbo, but she cannot deny that it sends a few butterflies through her stomach. Bilbo is a work in progress – no, Thorin is a work in progress. Bilbo is doing nothing wrong. Thorin is a natural leader but his Dwarven nature and experiences have made him hard. A shell that needs to be broken down again.

Just as she is thinking about him, the Hobbit himself walks into her sight. He carries his walking stick, and his entire pack is on his back as he sneaks over the legs and feet of sleeping Dwarves. “Bilbo?” The Hobbit’s head turns to her with wide eyes as he is caught in his act. Bofur’s lifts up, his forehead creasing.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bofur asks. Bilbo square’s his shoulders.

“Back to Rivendell,” he answers. Gailien and Bofur stand, marching up to the Dwarf. He’s leaving?

“No. No. No,” Bofur says. “You can’t turn back, now. You’re part of the company. You’re one of us.” Bilbo purses his lips.

“I’m not though, am I?” he counters. “Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I’m not a Took, I’m a Baggins. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should’ve never run out the door.”

Gailien steps forward, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. “You belong here just as much as the rest of us. Thorin is… well, you know him well enough. Maybe you’re homesick, I know how that feels-“

“No, you don’t,” Bilbo snaps, cutting her off. “None of you do, you’re Dwarves and a girl that hasn’t had a proper home in four hundred years! You’re used to…to this life, to living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere!” Gailien pulls her hand back at Bilbo’s tone. He’s never sounded so angry before, let alone at her. Bofur’s face drops in sorrow and Bilbo realises what he has said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

“No, you’re right,” says Bofur in a tired, resigned voice. “We don’t belong anywhere.”

“Are you going to be alright getting back to Rivendell,” she worries. “I can escort you and then catch back up with the company if you wish.” Catching up would not be the easiest job but travelling light and solo would let her move distance in a day than the company does. Bilbo though shakes his head.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

Bofur leans forward, putting his hand on the Hobbit’s shoulder as she had done. “I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do.” Gailien wants to protest a little more but maybe this is for the best. Her prophecy showed him to her as an older man. Maybe it isn’t that he survives this quest, maybe he just doesn’t finish it. The Hobbit shares once last look at the due before turning around and as he does, the lining of his red jacket shift, revealing a subtle blue light. “What’s that?”

Bilbo frowns, pulling the sword partially from the hilt. The blade is glowing a soft blue. Gailien’s face drops. Blue. Blue. Blue. Mountain. Blue. “Goblins!” Her voice rings loud in terror, jolting awake the entire company – which is exactly her aim. Thorin, who is already awake and listening, spies cracks appearing underneath the sand.

“Wake up. Wake up!” 

The company starts jostling about as Thorin and Gailien yell at them to move but before anybody can really even leave their bedrolls, the floor underneath them begins to open like trap doors. Gailien is on the edge of one near Bofur and they tumble backwards through the opening under their feet.

“Ahhh!”

They fall a few feet through the air, Dwarves around her but the blur makes them unidentifiable. After a moment, they hit a curved ground and their fall through the air ends but their rolling does not. With no control left of their bodies, the Dwarves, Bilbo, and Gailien tumble. Their screams are only stopped for seconds as they hit the ground – replaced by grunts and groans – before they are in the air again.

Her arm burns now more than ever as is knocks against the ground, scraping it across rock but it blends in with the rest of the pain now flaring around her body. The wind is knocked out of her as she lands on her chest, then she is once again, falling through the air. Her screams blend in with the rests’.

Under her are heavy grunts as the first Dwarves hit whatever awaits them and then she joins them. Her voice is brought to a small yelp-whimper as her stomach lands on something solid. Whatever it is, saves her head from smashing against the ground. Something lands on top of her but quickly rolls off and Gailien catches glimpse of Dwalin’s boots in the air. Always his boots. Underneath her is none other than Thorin himself. Their eyes meet for a second, but it is broken as a thundering horde of Goblins run towards them.

It is a mess, with another Dwarf in every inch of the cave they have been caught it but Gailien slides off Thorin, enough for them both to stand just as the horde reaches them. They start grabbing any Dwarf they can see, climbing over each other in madness. Arms grab at her, wherever they seem to reach.

“Get off!” Her elbow swings out, jabbing one in the eye and its hand releases her wrist but within a second, it is under another’s grasp. From next to her, she can hear Thorin yelling just the same as her. In front of her, Kili is being pulled away by two astonishingly ugly ones. “Kili!” Her cry is as fruitless as her own struggling as they start pulling her forward as well.

Dragged from the cage, she is pulled along a rickety wooden bridge. It is a disarray of bodies swarming together, allowing her only brief glances at her company mates. Her head swings back and forth as her legs kick out at any Goblin ankles that dare to step near them. Goblins run their hands over her body, pulling out the two blades she carries.

Behind her is Thorin who is fighting just as hard to break free, watching his company be handled like a pack of wild wargs. “Let go of me!” Dwalin breaks free of his captors, turning back around only to be met with more, but Gailien gives him the credit of being a fighter.

They are brought into the centre of whatever goblin filth they have fallen into. Gailien cannot help but marvel in disgust at the city. Networks of the same wooden bridge they stand on are webbed throughout a giant cavern, filled with hundreds - probably thousands of Goblins.

The Dwarves and Gailien have found fighting fruitless and now walk – though reluctantly, in their captor’s grips. Her head stays straight but her eyes constantly buzz around, trying to find something – anything, that could be used to their advantage. But they are surrounded and outnumbered by a ridiculous amount.

They are led to one Goblin in particular who is larger than the rest. And uglier. His massive neck skin hangs down to his chest, matching his face which is decorated in a permanent scowl with large boils and sores. On his head is a crown, long points of bone and he holds a long staff with the skull of a horned creature on the end. Gailien is pulled next to Thorin in front of their leader. Their weapons are thrown in a pile away from them.

The large Goblin drops down from his throne, squishing a pile of smaller ones under his feet. “Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?” he growls, leaning low to eye his new prisoners. “Spies? Thieves? Assassins?”

“Dwarves, your Malevolence,” a thin-faced Goblin answers. “And a not female Dwarf.” Gailien’s throat clenches as she is pointed out, singled from the rest. There are dangers to being a woman in this world, and she may be facing one of them tonight. “We found them on the front porch.” Next to her, Thorin moves slightly, stepping forward and to the side so he stands partially in front of her.

“Well don’t just stand there, search them!” The Goblins begin grabbing at them again, pulling away everything that can be pulled away from them. “Every crack, every crevice!” The Goblin orders. Goblins open Kili jackets, searching inside them as they do the same to everybody else. Gailien finds the young prince standing to the front, his face set in a scowl.

“Kili,” she mumbles. She cannot see his brother, but her eyes stay open for him. She tries to step past Thorin, arms outstretched for the young Dwarf who she desperately wants to pull back from the front. Like back in Rivendell, Thorin’s hand grips her forearm, holding her firmly in place. She gives him a silent plea with her eyes, but he does not look at her.

“What are you doing in these parts?” The Dwarves remain silent. “Speak!” No Dwarf answers the Goblin’s demand. Gailien slowly pulls Thorin’s hand off of her arm. “Very well, if they will not talk-“ he turns around, gesturing to the city of Goblins “-we’ll make them squawk!” The city cheers. “Bring up the mangler, bring up the bone breaker.” He points his staff into the crowd, directly towards Gailien. “And start with the female”.

Her knees falter slightly but she holds herself tall, ready to face whatever the mangler is – though, she has a pretty good idea. With her shoulders squared, she prepares herself to be pulled forward once again but Thorin has other ideas. “Wait!”

Without any resistance, Thorin starts walking forward through the Dwarves until he stands a few paces in front of the entire company. “Well, well, well. Look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the mountain.” The Goblin leader mockingly bows. “Oh! But I’m forgetting you don’t have a mountain, and you’re not a king. Which makes you nobody really.”

Gailien’s blood boils through her veins, wanting nothing more than to take the crown off of his head and stab both of his eyes with the bone points. The man who just stepped forward to prevent (or just delay) anything happening to her is being mocked by a tyrant.

“I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached,” he taunts. Gailien marches forward, knocking shoulders along the way until she stands just in front of Kili, glaring up at the massive Goblin.

“Cín gurth will tul- bui nin bor,” she snarls with as much loathing she can conjure into her tone. He may not understand her words, but they came out more threatening in Sindarin than Common tongue. Thorin snaps his head around as the Goblin stands taller.

“Ah, the female is an Elf. My, I wonder what you have done to end up with a band of Dwarves.” He saunters forward, leaning low to talk to Thorin, but gestures to her. “You better teach her how to watch her tongue. Not that you’ll have the time to. You head is being sought out by an old enemy of yours. A pale orc astride a white warg.”

“Azog the Defiler was destroyed,” says Thorin. “He was slain in battle long ago.”

“So you think his defiling days are done, do you?” The Goblin taunts. He turns to a small Goblin which sits on a pully mechanism, holding a piece of parchment and ink. “Send word to the pale orc, tell him I have found his prize.” The scribe Goblin begins writing as he zips through the air away.

As the Goblin leader turns away from them, Gailien leaps forward, pulling the king back by his coat. He steps back, letting her pull him away until he is back surrounded by the company. Her head turns around, looking around for the blond prince. Her shoulders relax slightly as she sees him standing a few meters away, visibly unhurt. Feeling her gaze, Fili meets her eye, nodding slightly in reassurance. Gailien can’t bring her lips to smile but she nods back, shifting her gaze back through the company. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Nori, Dori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin… Thorin, Kili, and Fili….

Bilbo!


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Rickety Bridges

Bilbo missing is either a terribly horrid thing or a blessing in disguise. It means that Gailien cannot keep an eye on him and it is a constant distraction. But it also means that somehow, he has escaped. It is up to him now whether he can escape this Goblin hole on his own. And whether they can as well. At this point, she doesn’t know if she is more worried for the Dwarves and herself or Bilbo.

And not to mention now a new terror grinds her teeth and bones. Azog, the pale orc which brought so much terror to the ones who know his name. The Goblins, however, cheer in the name of the Defiler as their leader leads them in a song that rattles her eardrums.

“Bones will be shattered,  
necks will be wrung,  
and you’ll be beaten and battered,  
from racks you’ll be hung.  
You will die down here and never be found,  
down in the deep of Goblin town.”

The Goblins keep pushing them around for their own entertainment. Gailien knows she cannot fight them, but it doesn’t stop her from pulling from their hands, sending sharp-tongued insults at them. One pulls at Kili’s jacket, earning a growl from the young Dwarf. With only her feet free, Gailien pulls up her right heel, slamming it down on the Goblin pulling at Kili. It wails, releasing the jacket and pulls its foot into its hands. In return, a Goblin that has seen, tugs on her arm harshly, the joint at her shoulder burning along with her left forearm.

Their song’s chorus begins again, and a large, deadly looking contraption is being wheeled towards it. The bone breaker. Though Thorin had prevented her from being picked out among them before, there is no doubt in her mind that she will be the first to experience what it can do. A female being accompanied by thirteen males – it would be stupid not to use her first. Sure, some would probably not protest her death but there is no doubt that she has some friends in the company.

As the Goblins rifle through their things, one picks out Thorin’s sword from the pile. It unsheathes it partially, but as soon as the blade is visible, it throws it in terror. The singing stops, filling the air with the metallic clang of the sword on wood and then by the cries of nearby Goblins. The leader cowers back to his thrown, pointing down at it with a shaky finger.

“I know that sword!” he cries. “It is the Goblin-clever!” The Goblins cower and screech in fear, but their terror doesn’t last long. They become ferocious, standing back as they whip out the chains stored across their bodies, lashing at them. Gailien yelps in pain as one slashes at the back of her neck. The Dwarves are defenceless against them. “The Biter! The Blade that sliced a thousand necks!”

Four or five Goblins surround Thorin. He throws one away, but it is only replaced by another.

“Thorin!”

For a moment, Thorin looks away from the Goblins surrounding him, finding the dark-haired woman reaching out for him – whether in fear for her own life or his own is unknown. Three Goblins pull at her, forcing her to kneel on the ground. Her shoulders are thrown about, trying to dislodge their iron grips. Thorin punches the Goblin near his face and tries to march forward to knock the Goblins off the girl but another three pull at him, forcing him to the ground.

“Slash them, beat them, peel them, kill them all!” Gailien watches as Thorin is forced onto his back. “Cut off his head!” She tears from their grip as a goblin holds a large bone dagger over the Dwarf king. Her feet make it two steps, a determined growl grumbling through her throat. She has just earnt his trust – the one thing she desires from him (admittedly, anyway) and she will not let him die with the hands of a Goblin.

But at the end of those two steps, something happens. Gailien isn’t quite sure what it is, only that there is a white flash of light and a pulsating energy burns through the room. She falls to her knees as the Goblins are forced away, off of her, Thorin, and the rest of the company. Then as quickly as it came, the light ends and the dust floats in the air.

Gailien squints, her heart pumping painfully as her head raises to meet the source of their saving. Slowly, Goblins and Dwarves rise in the same uncertainty but Gailien’s eyes widen as the form of the Grey Wizard emerges.

“Take up arms! Fight...Fight!”

With a new furnace of burning determination, the Dwarves (and Gailien) let out warrior’s cries. Gandalf wields his sword and staff, slashing at two Goblins as they Dwarves run to their pile of lost weapons.

“He wields the Foe-hammer, the beater, bright as daylight!” the Goblin leader cries, still cowering against his throne. Kili bends down, picking up to recognisable blades.

“Gailien!” With her attention, he throws them in the air to her awaiting hands and with a trained eye and instinct, she turns them in her fingers, shoving them behind her at an approaching Goblin. Now with her weapons, her confidence regrows but she holds herself from feeling arrogant as her enemies are easily slain by her blade. The Goblin-cleaver still lies on the floor.

As Dwarves throw weapons over the heads, slashing enemies left, right, and centre, Gailien glides across the floor. “Thorin!” Still weapon-less, Thorin turns at his name, kicking away an oncoming Goblin. Gailien tucks her booted foot under the handle and hilt of Orcrist, tossing it through the air and into his hands. Without wasting a second, Thorin slices the neck of another, giving her a subtle nod.

Behind him, the Goblin leader finally stops cowering, lunging forward and another warning plays on her tongue but it is not needed as Thorin matches his strike, sending him tumbling off the wooden platform.

But no matter how hard they fight the Goblins still outnumber them and any that they kill are replaced by two more. A large Goblin runs at her. She braces her stance, readying her blades but before it is within her range, it grunts in pain, falling to the floor. Behind it is Fili, giving her a quick mirthful smirk before moving on.

Noting their outnumbered situation, Gandalf quickly assesses an escape route. “Follow me. Quick! Run!” The last of their belongings are tossed through the air to their rightful owners and Gailien can’t help but wonder if they had found all of Fili’s knives. She’s seen some creative hiding places that she wouldn’t dare reach for. The company follows Gandalf down a wooden road.

Through all the chaos, Bilbo has fallen to the back of Gailien’s mind but as they run it trickles back into the centre of her mind. What has become of him? Surely if Gandalf is here, then he can help search once they have reached their own safety.

The network of rickety wooden paths doesn’t end as they follow Gandalf and Gailien is praying that her luck stays with her in the fact that she has not yet tripped over. Dwalin at the lead of their run, slicing down a few Goblins on the way. He yells something incomprehensible to her ears and using his battle-axe, cuts free a long wooden pike. The Dwarves in front of her grasp it and she watches in slight amazement as they use it to knock away a small horde that runs towards them, sending them tumbling over the side. They drop it back on the ground.

A Goblin swings down from above, earning her blade ramming through his head as she sprints. It falls the ground behind her, accompanied by the grunt of a Dwarf. “ ‘Eh, watch it!” they yell to her.

“Sorry,” she calls back over her shoulder, slicing another – though this time she is sure to send it over the edge.

The paths around them verge away as they start running along a long wooden bridge. The fear begins to rise in her again as many of its planks are either rotten or missing. It is only then that she realises the company has split in half. Challenging her own fears, she breaks her gaze away from the path to around her, looking for the other members. But it isn’t needed as they are already catching up with them on the other side of the bridge. Their paths converge as she leaps down from the end of the wooden road down onto theirs, landing in the middle, her legs already running before they hit the floor.

They run into a dead-end, but Thorin cuts the rope holding the swinging bridge in place and they soar through the air. Gailien balances herself, struggling to find the balance in her legs. “Jump!” A few Dwarves jump off the other side before the swing back the other way. More Goblins jump onto the platform, but they keep them at bay as they swing to the other side once more. Now prepared, the rest run to the edge, leaping back onto solid ground as Fili slices the rope, sending the platform and remain Goblins into the abyss.

There are just as many Goblins waiting for them on the other side. Gailien finds herself struggling to stay with the company as she is forced to fight numerous Goblins on the path. For a moment she believes she has lost them but a rough hand pulls at her jacket, tugging her along the path as Thorin forces her to reunite with the rest.

Gandalf brings down a large stone from one of the over hangings, which then proceeds to tumble down their new stone path. They run behind it as the large form squashes any Goblin in its path. More and more Goblins until they seem to find a path that has none in front of them.

For a second of bliss, Gailien begins smiling at the thought of nearing the end of Goblin town but it is rudely destroyed by the Goblin leader bursting through the wooden floor. Gailien shrinks into the company as Goblins surround them on either side. Her blades are high and ready for an attack, her back against Kili’s.

“You thought you could escape me?” the leader growls arrogantly. He slams his skull-topped staff into the ground in front of Gandalf, then through the air, forcing the wizard and the company back. “What are you going to do now wizard?”

Gandalf steps forward, and using his staff, stabs the Goblin in the eye. It groans, grasping at its face but Gandalf gives it no mercy before slicing it stomach clean open. It cries out, falling to its knees. It nods slightly in thought. “That’ll do it,” it answers shrewdly. And as it that isn’t enough, Gandalf then slices its throat. Falling forward, the weight of the great sized Goblin lands on the bridge which rumbles and groans.

Then the supports break and they fall through the air. Gailien screams to whatever gods are out there, falling to her stomach, her fingers gripping the edge of a plank as they soar through Goblin town, knocking into other roads and rocks, passing onlooking Goblins. As they knock into a wall, the momentum sends her body in the air, her legs landing on poor Kili’s stomach. She would apologise if she could, but the cavern walls narrow and their small section of the platform, which has miraculously stayed upright, slow down their fall until they hit the ground with only a little force. Broken planks lie on them and Gailien’s legs are trapped on top of Kili as wood weighs them down and her face is next to Dwalin’s.

They all groan in pain as Gandalf emerges from the pile. “Sorry, dilthen er,” she says to Kili. Kili gives her a pained smile, patting her side. They are on the bottom level, a few Dwarves above them on the second row of planks.

“Well, that could have been worse,” Bofur muses in mirth. Gailien begins to swear at those cursed words when she is cut off as the Goblin leader falls through the cavern, landing on top of the platform. Under its weight, the top half collapses, and a collective groan sounds.

“You’ve got to be joking!” Dwalin growls. Gailien coughs at the weight in her chest but fortunately, Dwalin is larger than her in width and her body only received a hit of the force but is not trapped under its weight. Kili pushes the wood off them both and her legs slide free but as he looks up, his face drops.

“Gandalf!” Gailien stands, pulling Kili up blindly as she peers to the cavern they fell from. Hundreds of Goblin are moving down the rocky walls towards them.

“There’s too many, we can’t fight them,” Dwalin announces.

“Only one thing will save us. Daylight! Come on!” Gailien searches around for any struggling Dwarf, pulling Bofur from the rubble then Ori. “Here, on your feet.” Gailien jumps up, grasping Fili’s hands, using her weight to hall him from the top of the rubble. They land on the ground, hastily pushing off as they begin running through the rocky passages.

Gandalf stands to the side, ensuring that they are all following and Gailien’s arm burns now. And so does her right leg. But she promised – promised that it would not slow her or the company down. But it is hard to ignore the searing flame in each step.

The end of the tunnel comes to light and for the first time in many hours, her eyes are blessed with sunshine. A slight cry of relief passes her lips as she runs onto the grass, but her mind keeps reeling, telling her that she has forgotten something.

They don’t stop running, not even now that they are in broad daylight where the Goblins will not dare chase them. They follow the natural slope of the hill down into an open forest of trees through small hills which are littered from rocks. They bounce over and through them until the ground flattens out, well away from the mountainside.

Gailien breathes heavily, not recalling the last time her body has done so much fighting and running in a short time. Her fighting instincts have not faded but her fighting body has and she is forced to draw her right leg up slightly to give it some relief of the pain it is buried in.

Gandalf begins calling out their names as he sees them, and she barely hears her own. Her eyes clench shut, willing the flames in her bones to soothe. It is just inflammation of an old wound that never healed right, not anything new so there is no way to heal it besides rest.

“Are you hurt?”

Gailien peeks through her lashes, tilting her head up slightly. Thorin is bent forward slightly, looking at her neutrally, but there is a subtle hint of concern seeping through his voice. She shakes her head, opening her eyes fully and straightening her back. “I’m fine.”

Thorin narrows his eyes at her, not believing her for a second but Gandalf cuts any accusations of lying off. “…And Bombur, that makes fourteen. Where’s Bilbo? Where is our Hobbit?” A panic strikes her chest again. “Where is our Hobbit?”

The company look around as though he is hiding amongst them but Gailien knows that has not been with them since the beginning of their capture. They did not lose him in the chase.

“Cure that Halfing! Now he’s lost!” Gloin growls. “I thought he was with Dori!”

“Don’t blame me!” Dori protests.

Gandalf stalks forward to the grey-haired Dwarf. “And where did you last see him?”

“I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us,” Nori answers.

“What happened exactly? Tell me!” Gandalf demands.

“He’s still in their Gandalf,” she exclaims. Bilbo Baggins does not deserve to be deserted in that horror of a place. Even with the leader dead, the Goblins will run a frenzy. “We have to go back in there. I’m going in there! With or without your help!”

“You will not!” Thorin growls as he steps in front of her. “Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He’s thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since he first stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing out Hobbit again, he is lone gone.” Gailien’s infuriation for him once again grows but she doesn’t have the chance to argue as a familiar, kind voice rings out.

“No, he isn’t.”

Gailien’s leg almost gives out underneath her as she sprints forward. “Bilbo!” She engulfs him in a tight embrace.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf sings. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.” Gailien releases him, not yet sure if he is unscathed but as she looks him over, the only sign of damage his to his beloved red coat which has lost all of its buttons.

“Bilbo, we’d given you up!” Kili cheers.

“How on earth did you get past the Goblins?” Fili questions from beside in wonder. Gailien stands back, giving the Hobbit his space as she joins the brothers.

“How indeed,” Dwalin muses perplexed. Bilbo laughs nervously, slipping his fingers into the small pockets of his red waistcoat. Gailien frowns at his apprehension.

“Oh, what does it matter?” Gandalf dismisses. “He’s back.”

“It matters,” Thorin says, though without the viciousness it held before. “I want to know. Why did you come back?"

Bilbo sighs, looking around the company. “Look, I know you doubt me. I know…I know you always have. And you’re right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, and my armchair, and my garden. See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. And that’s why I came back, cause…you don’t have one. A home. It was taken from you, but I will help you take it back if I can.”

Gailien smiles proudly. It is a similar reason to her own for being here. She lost her home, forcible or not she was no longer welcome there and if she can help those who reclaim their own, those who deserve it, then by her life and death she will. While her faith in Bilbo may have waivered, she never stopped truly believing that he is a brave creature. To step so far out of comfort for strangers. All she can hope for now is that Thorin will offer him the same trust that he now does for her.

As they stand there in contemplation, howling echoes down the mountainside. Wargs. Her smile drops, toes digging into the ground in preparation.

“Out of the frying pan,” Thorin grumbles.

“And into the fire. Run,” Gandalf says simply before shouting. “Run!”


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: To Prove Yourself

Her leg burns - burns like someone is holding a blue flame over the muscle and bones with each step. Her blades are tightly held in each hand, ready to strike in less than a moment’s notice as she runs down the hill with the Dwarves, Wizard, and Hobbit. Wargs howl and growl behind them, a constant reminder that their heels are being chased. But they could never hope to outrun such a beast. It is a surprise to Gailien that she has not fallen to the back of the company already, the first to be slaughtered. But with each step, even though it burns, it also becomes numb at the same time. The pain becomes so much a part of her that to be without it seems an unsettling normal.

The wargs catch up in little time. Blood rushes to her ears as they hear the sound of flesh being cut. A slightly tingling sense crawls up her right arm and with instinct-driven nature, she changes her step, kicking off a tree to the side which launches through the air. Underneath her, where she stood less than a second ago, a large grey warg snaps its jaw up towards her. With a swift movement, while still in the air, one arm extends downwards, slicing through the beast’s face.

She lands back on her feet, rolling out the momentum before sprinting again and the beast whimpers in pain – now blind. Then the edge of their path is met. A cliff, and to fall would be a terrible demise. Now they are trapped between two deadly options and the morbid thought runs through her mind – which would be quicker to die by?

“Up into the trees!” Gandalf cries. “All of you! Come on, climb! Bilbo, climb!”

With the trees as the only chance they have been given, Gailien runs towards them, Dwarves jumping up around her. A hand extends down from one of the branches in front of her and without delaying, her hand reaches to the sky to clasp it. They swing her up with her own momentum and for a moment, she is looking towards the dawning sky. Time slows as the branches still, her hair blowing behind her as her legs swing up in front of her. Then the sky disappears, replaced once again by the ground as her stomach hits the branch.

Pulling her legs over, she thanks the Dwarf. “Glad to see you still alive,” she gaps out in short breathes to Fili.

“Could say the same to you,” he grins.

“They’re coming!” Thorin’s roar calls to them. Gailien looks up as a boot falls into her vision and she is glad to find Kili sitting on the branch above them. And Bilbo’s red coat is visible in the tree just in front of them. As the wargs circle them, there is no fighting below which is momentarily soothing, knowing that all the Dwarves have made it into the trees.

The wargs circle under them, surrounding but not yet attacking. Like the trained hunters they are.

Gailien is not a born fighter. She has not been training her whole life to fight in battles, nor has she mastered her own weapons. She’s competent – and no more than that. Her foresight has been used to avoid conflict, the escape and use safe passages. Her body, a marred image of a half-Elf woman that knows how to swing a sword, how to take a life. But not the image of a warrior who has seen enough battle to know the taste of their enemies’ blood.

So as she is circled, she does not feel pure rage fuelling her, preparing her to slaughter. No, she feels like the prey she is – being hunted. Yet the Dwarves around her, just as tall and half as young still look more like warriors than she ever will.

A white warg grazes its paws over a pointed rock, a tall pale, scarred orc sitting astride. Though she has never seen him before, tales she is told never leave her mind and the name pulsates through her head like a metal ball. Azog.

“Do you smell it?” He taunts. “The scent of fear? I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin son of Thrain.” His raises his left arm which has been cut clean off above the wrist. In the place of a hand, a large metal spike has been forced through his skin before it healed. “That one is mine. Kill the others!”

Her fear for Thorin mixes with fear for herself as the wargs are given their command. They leap from the ground snapping at their feet which still dangle dangerously below them. Lower branches are easily snapped away by their jaw. Fili and Gailien stand, reaching up to the higher branch with the younger brother who pulls them up. The wargs pound at the tree trunks, clawing and tearing at the bark, even knocking its own pack mates away to be the first to taste their blood.

A few manage to climb the lower branches, even the one Fili and Gailien resided on before but they break under the weight. Weak trees. They are weak trees. That thought sends a shiver of dread through her spine as her fingers curl around the thin, pliable wood. The two princes and woman are shaken, holding to the branch above them.

Then it happens, the trunk of their tree snaps and the wargs’ weight tips it backwards. Gailien half turns, watching as the next tree moves closer – or rather, they to it. The three of them leap through the air. Smaller twigs and sticks scrap against her face but her hands manage to grasp a thick enough branch. With the momentum of the fall, her body swings up and over, letting her legs wrap around the branch.

The sweet moment doesn’t last long as the wargs move with the Dwarves. Around her, most of the Dwarves have been forced to the same tree, their own falling. Almost every branch has a Dwarf, Hobbit, or woman clinging to it, scrambling to get higher away from the wargs’ jaws. Under all their weight and the creature’s paws, their new tree begins to tip.

“Ahhh!”

Gailien screams as the tree tips at an alarming rate. The Dwarves above her are already jumping to the next - the final tree. The tree that has rooted itself on the very edge of the cliff. Every instinct in her bones is fighting against jumping to it, telling her that she’ll have better odds on the ground than on that tree but she fights her own body with all her might, launching off her branch towards the final tree.

Her hands are out in front of her, searching for something to cling to and it finds a high branch. Her fingers become raw from the wood scraping at them but as with her legs and her arm, it is numbed. Hurling her elbows over the branch; she pulls herself to her feet standing next to Kili who clings to the trunk. From above them, a pinecone engulfed in flames is hurled by the wizard to the ground. With all the dry grass as fuel, it quickly lights a large fire and the beasts shy.

“Fili!”

Fili glances up at the Wizard’s call, catching a flaming pinecone. Quickly, he juggles it in his hand as Bilbo lights his own. Kili catches another given by Gandalf and with one hand on the branch above, and one hand on a pinecone, Gailien lights her own from his then tosses it at a large black warg.

“Orc scum,” she hisses loudly, baring her teeth.

More pinecones are thrown, fingers being slightly burnt in the process, but none take any notice or care. Then the cracking appears again. The root of the tree tips, breaking away from the dry dirt it has grown in. Gailien drops the pinecone in her hand, both hands rising to the branch above as they begin to fall backwards. With nothing underneath her, her feet slip away from the branch, dangling from her arms.

She forces her head to stay looking straight as the ground below them is too far away to survive any fall. Thorin is opposite her, in the branch what used to be below but now looks directly at her. They all cling to those branches for their lives. Kili has managed to hold onto the trunk, using a new branch as a foothold.

“Mr Gandalf!” Gailien switches her front. Dori clings to the branch, his feet hanging towards the abyss below with Ori hangs from his leg. With a swing of her legs, Gailien soars through the short space, her arms hugging the same branch as Dori. She means to pull Ori up, but Dori loses his grip.

Her throat tears in a hot agonising shriek. Her arms falter around the branch as unbearable weight tugs at her leg. Her bad leg. The leg that has already been burning now has the weight of two Dwarves clutching to it with their lives. Her cry stops but the pain doesn’t. It drags her down, and if she had been only grasping the branch with her hands and fingers, all three of them would have fallen, but it is locked under her shoulders, her head struggling to stay above.

It is hard to breathe with the pain, vomit threatening to spill as nothing around her is comprehensible but the branch and the weight. She cannot even hear her name being cried out. Her eyes clench shut, loud growling whimpers the price of her efforts. To let go would mean their deaths but it would mean whatever depths of pain she is in will end and that sense of salvation is enough to make her contemplate it. 

It is not until Dwalin is calling for Thorin that Gailien can even open her eyes. Thorin, in all his might, marches towards the pale orc. And then all contemplation off letting go ceases. Because that is the thing about fighting. You have to have a reason to – something more important than your own life and then you can face the impossible. 

“Thorin!” His name passes her lips in a desperate attempt to call him back. To stop whatever madness of revenge courses through his veins. Because her reason is walking to his death. Running through the flames and wargs to the pale orc who smirks. Fresh hot tears stream down her face, running over her mouth and cheeks, dripping off her chin.

The warg and rider leap off the pointed rock, clawing at Thorin. The Dwarf King is forced to the ground. Beneath her, Dori’s grasp slips, sending a new wave of pain. “Hold on,” she pleads down to him. “Please.”

Thorin stands again, bracing himself but the pale orc rides at him with a swinging mace. Gailien can’t tear her eyes away, screaming once again as the mace collides with the King. The white warg leans down, clamping him between its jaws and Thorin’s own screams meet her ears. It is a sound that she never wants to hear again.

There is nothing more in the world at this moment that she wants more than to put her blade through the Orc and warg. To hear their squeals. The warg tosses its head and Thorin is flung through the air, landing heavily on a stone and does not rise.

Gailien’s grip falters again, her burn scraping against the wood through the bandages but she does not fall. Her reason is still there, alive so she will still fight.

Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins, the burglar-Hobbit from the Shire who really has no place being on such a quest holds his sword firmly in his right hand. His large leathery feet pound against the burnt ground before pressing off, leaping through the air and tackling the orc who has its sword raised to behead the King Under the Mountain.

With a valiant effort, the Orc is killed by his glowing blue sword, only to be met by four more wargs and their riders. Gailien’s lesson pumps through his mind and he has never been more thankful for that morning. He swings it about as the wargs prowl towards him. Four against one.

The Dwarves yell mighty war cries, emerging from the high flames with their weapons and their teeth bared. Once they were cowering in the trees, now they fight with the true might of the Dwarf race. Gailien wishes to be there, fighting by the Princes’ and Bilbo’s side but her grip is slipping. The branch drags across her upper arms before she is forced to wrap her hand underneath it instead but even that doesn’t last long.

Then she drops.

A silent gasp passes her lips as her back faces the ground, her arms reaching up to the retreating tree. Dori and Ori’s screams are silenced by her mind, replaced by the wind coursing as hard as a river rapid past her ears. Then her back hits something solid. She is not greeted by death, only a feathery back of an eagle.

They soar through the air, away from the fires on the cliff but more join, Dwarves on their backs. Gailien scrunches her face, her entire right leg feeling like it has been filled with molten lava. She lies on her stomach, arms trembling and neither they nor her legs can keep her up.

“Thorin!”

Fili’s cry for his uncle is heart-wrenching. Gailien drags herself forward to look past the eagle’s neck. Fili and Kili share an eagle, sitting upright and unharmed. Dwalin. Bilbo. Gandalf. Dori and Ori. Balin…. And Thorin is on no eagle back, but clutched in the claws of one, his arms limply hanging.

The eagles fly for league over mountain and forest and if she could marvel at the view, she would. Blackness seeps around the edges of her vision from the pain but she forces herself awake. They could have been on that eagle for days but she has no sense of awareness except what her body feels. 

The eagles begin circling a rock, Thorin being the first to lay down upon it, followed by Gandalf and Bilbo. Thorin lays motionless on the rocks. Gailien’s eagle slowly glides down, landing near the edge. Bracing herself, Gailien slowly slides off, landing on her left leg but her right is forced to the ground to balance her. The whimper is caught by her teeth as the eagle flies away, letting the next Dwarf land. Her arms still shake, fingers twitching against her thigh as she heavily limps closer to the fallen Dwarf. Gandalf is bent over him, mumbling some spell and Thorin’s eyes finally pry open.

“The Halfing?” is his first question. Gailien briefly – and with great effort – smiles to the brothers who have landed.

“It’s alright. Bilbo is here,” Gandalf assures. “He’s quite safe.” And the Hobbit is, standing opposite the Dwarves, almost perfectly fine except the emotional trauma. Thorin lifts himself up with help from Dwalin and Kili.

“You!” He growls. Gailien’s partial smile drops and she has to blink rapidly – to keep the growing blackness at bay and to make sure that she is truly seeing and hearing what is coming from Thorin’s mouth. “What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild, and you had no place amongst us.” If her clasp onto the last strands of reality were not slipping like silk through wet hands, Gailien would have marched forward right then and there. At first, Bilbo is hurt – shocked, by Thorin’s words but submits himself in resignation. “I have never been so wrong, in all my life.” A solid hiccup of a cry jumps from her lips without warning as Thorin embraces Bilbo in a well-earned hug.

The Dwarves cheer, patting each other’s back. “But I’m sorry I doubted you,” Thorin adds.

“No, I…I would have doubted me too,” Bilbo counters in both modestly and honestly. “I’m not a hero, nor a warrior. Not even a burglar.” A few Dwarves laugh as the eagles fly off.

A sudden hot flush erupts in her chest.

“And I also wish to formally apologise-“ Thorin turns around to the company “-to Gailien. She has my full trust and I will not hear of any ill words spoken of her in this company.” Most of the Dwarves smile – even Dori whose life would be no more without her efforts. Gailien may have also hugged Thorin, ran to him and let herself be swallowed by the fur line coat. That is, if she actually heard the words.

Gailien is staring straight ahead – at Thorin but nothing reaches her ears or her mind besides the pain in her leg and the trembling of her muscles. Thorin frowns, noting her blank look. “Gailien?” He takes a step forward.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head and without warning, she collapses to the ground.


	25. Part 1 Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Healing Hands

“Maer aes hen,” she pronounces slowly. Kili mouths the words silently with her, following the way her mouth changes with each letter. The campfire burns softly next to them, complementing the silver light of the moon and stars.

“Maer…aes hen,” he repeats. “Maer aes hen!” Fili smiles softly at his brother’s excitement who cheers to himself as the words come clear through his tongue. “Bombur! Maer aes hen!” Bombur pauses mid-way through eating his stew as the young prince Dwarf speaks a random string of letters – well, to his ears.

As promised, Gailien has been teaching Kili simple Sindarin phrases. Things like greetings, farewells, compliments and what Kili is very impatient to use: insults. She is sure the other Dwarves are somewhat tired of hearing Elvish phrases being randomly used by the Dwarf, but Gailien finds amusement in the efforts.

“I think that is enough for tonight, dilthen er,” she softly laughs, uncrossing her legs.

“What does dilthen er mean?” he presses. It has been her nickname for him ever since the Goblin mountain, yet she has yet to teach him their meaning. Gailien shakes her head teasingly, taking amusement from his desperation to know. In all honesty, she isn’t sure he will still like it once he knows that it means ‘little one,’ but she uses it fondly. She has taken to calling Fili, Malthen emel, meaning ‘Golden heart.’ He also does not know its meaning but she speaks it with a honey sweetness that the older brother is content with the second name.

What she also doesn’t inform Kili of, is that it used to be her own name amongst her family. It was used with such love and affection, until after her unfortunate event where strange Elves in the corridors began to call her by it and the words became thorns to her ears. By calling Kili by the same name, it is her attempt to preserve the good memories that it once held.

“You will find out the day I die,” she answers. Kili narrows his eyes accusingly.

“But you’re an Elf! You’re going to live much longer than I will,” he protests. The truth he speaks pinches her heart, but at the same time – it may not be true. She may only have a few years left with her choice of mortal life. There is nobody that knows but Eru who does not answer her questions.

“Then I will tell you on your deathbed when you have a long grey beard,” she retorts, not letting her thoughts be portrayed on her face. Kili huffs but a few nearby Dwarves laugh softly at their conversation.

Weeks have passed since the Goblin’s and they have been on the constant run from Azog and the Orcs. After the events, Gailien and Bilbo’s place amongst the company solidified and even Dori came forth to apologise for his words, admitting what he had said behind her back but she brushed it off, not admitting that she had heard them already. If Fili and Kili ignored it, then so will she. Gloin brought up the fact that she had lied, not once, but twice but Thorin quickly ended his argument, stating that it had been for his own sake and took full responsibility for the trolls.

After she had awoken from her pain-induced faint – after two days, - she had indeed, hugged Thorin with such tight arms that he felt the blood being trapped in his face. There is no more arguing, no more pleading to be listened to.

Gailien ruffles Kili’s hair as she walks past him, earning a grunt of annoyance. Her bedroll is set up on the other side of the fire, in front of a log so she can lean against it until her eyes wish to close. And doing just that, she pulls to cover off her roll over her legs, sitting back against the bark.

Not long after she settles down, watching the rest talk amongst themselves does Thorin join her, leaning back against the log as she does. It is not unusual for the two to be seen together now as she has become a sort of confidant, her visions acting as guidance where they can.

“How’s your arm?” he asks, pulling one knee up to hook his hands around. Gailien stretches out her left arm, not feeling any sort of pain. The bandages have been removed now that new skin has replaced the burnt layer, but it is still open to infection.

“Perfectly fine,” she answers, giving the man a kind smile. Thorin nods, giving his own smile.

“And your leg?”

“It is fine, also.” Her leg was never wounded from the mountain, just old issues arising. This meant that there is nothing exactly to heal, only rest for it to recover. It made her feel useless, barely able to walk for the first couple of days but to the company’s credit, no one complained or berated her. They just helped her along, offering their assistance where they could. “I’m sorry again. I promised that it wouldn’t be a burden, but I never expected to Dwarves to be hanging off it.” Still, even now it twinges slightly at the end of long days, but the pain is more in her lower back from her other marred tissue, caused by her favouring of her feet.

“Nonsense,” Thorin dismisses. “Our company would not still be complete if you had not done what you did.” Words of praise that she holds onto with invisible closed fists.

“And how is your shoulder?” she questions, motion with her eyes to the back shoulder where the warg’s bite was most brutal. Gandalf is not a healer, but his magic did help the wound mend itself better though even now she can see twinges of pain on his face. “Has Oin looked at it today?”

“It is better,” he answers. Gailien narrows his eyes as his tell-tale for lying – a twitch in his eye – is ever so obvious even in the low light. “Oin fell asleep before I could ask, but it will be fine until tomorrow.”

Gailien holds back a roll of her eyes at his stubborn nature. “Well if Oin has not, then let me see it. I can treat wounds.” She begins to rise onto her shins but Thorin holds his hand out.

“It can wait, you are tired,” he tries to protest. This time Gailien does roll her eyes.

“I was going to meditate anyways,” she counters. It is her usual nightly routine, meditating to call forth her foresight and see the days ahead. With the constant practise since the beginning of the quest, she has been able to find enough concentration to now see beyond her own path willingly. Her focus is pointed on Azog’s future decisions – where he will pick up their tracks, what path they will take. It has allowed the Dwarves to stay one step ahead for the past month or so since the mountain.

“It is late-“

“And you can go to sleep being content that it is healing,” she interrupts with a pointed look. “I will admit, I am not as skilled as our famed healer, but I know how to check for infection and make a salve.”

“You are more stubborn than Dwalin,” he growls softly but she takes it as a resignation to her request. Dwalin, who is still awake, talking with his brother huffs slightly but does not say anything. 

“I have to be around you,” she snorts. “I’ll go retrieve the wraps.”

As Gailien wanders over to Oin’s pack where all their medical supplies are stored, Thorin reluctantly removes his coat and tunic. Fili and Kili share a look, sitting on opposite logs, adjacent to the uncle. Gailien searches through, pulling out fresh bandage wraps and the ingredients to make the salve that will ward off infection. She gathers it in her arms and walks back to her bed space which Thorin is waiting for her at.

As she kneels down, Thorin turns his bare back to her. Knowing that Dwarves have much better senses than humans, she becomes overly aware to control her breathing pattern. Her fingers reach out, untying the knotted bandage that has been on there for long enough. Ashamedly, it takes a strong concentration to not let her fingers drift across his skin as she unwinds it around his shoulder. Thorin’s hair is long – long enough to be in the way of seeing it properly.

Knowing how culturally important their hair and beards are, she hesitantly reaches out, watching the side of his face for any negative reaction as her fingers begin to brush it away. Thorin doesn’t move, and she decides that either hair from their head is not as important as their braids or beards, or that Thorin does not care. Relaxing slightly, she bravely moves it to the side, over his neck.

The wound itself is healing fine, the mark from the teeth closing over and the new flesh is still a mix of red and pink. No signs of infection but it will leave a scar. Her hands drop to the bowl at her side, placing the ingredients into it with a drop of water from her waterskin.

Desperate to end the silence and giver her something else to think about, she speaks about the first topic that comes to mind. “Kili is learning Elvish quickly. You may have a future translator in the boy.”

Thorin readjusts his seat. “I am glad. We won’t always have you around. Though you don’t exactly provide translations yourself.” Won’t always have you around. Her hands pause without consent and she has to force them to keep working.

“Won’t always have me around?” she questions, trying to keep her tone smooth. “Are you planning on dumping me somewhere?” She tries to laugh but it comes out pathetically.

“Of course not,” he says. “I mean after the mountain is reclaimed and you go back to travelling as you like to.”

Gailien hasn’t thought about what is going to happen after the quest. She supposes that that is what will happen if she survives. Say her farewells then leave to go back to whatever abode welcomes her. Perhaps Bilbo will be kind enough to allow her to stay with him for a while. Hobbiton is a peaceful, secluded part of Middle Earth that she would be more than happy to settle down in but…but it won’t be the same.

All her life, her travelling has been to try and find somewhere where she belongs. Where her company is accepted. And it has all be in vain until now. She counts her spot among the Dwarves around her and the thought of having to willingly say goodbye and walk away from them all physically hurts her. She has to savour it will she can.

“Oh, of course.” Her fingers dip into the thin paste, coating them in it. She raises them to Thorin’s back, muttering an apology at the cool sting on tender skin. “Sorry.”

His back tense at the moment their skin meets but relaxes after a second and she smothers the paste around the wound. Once it is fully covered, she holds a sigh. She still has to do the front. Collecting the bowl in her clean hand, she moves around to his front. Thorin drops his bent knees, crossing them instead. There are two wounds on his front that need tending. One on his chest, the same spot at his back, and one on his lower side.

Thorin watches her silently as her fingers dip back into the paste. Her eyes stay trained on the wound but her tensed cheeks drop at one of his two long braids lies over it. She hesitantly gestures to it. “Uh, sorry, but your braid…”

Thorin glances down at it, nodding slightly. “You may move it.” Gailien opens her mouth to protest but she doesn’t know what to say. Would it be insulting to refuse to touch them? She thought that only close kin ever did – or at least, that is what Kili implied in one of their conversations. She had meant for him to move it himself. Slowly, her clean hand moves up and before she can scare herself out of it, her fingers catch the braid between them, and she pushes it back and over his shoulder, being sure not to touch the intricate bead.

“Genogan!”

The Khazadul word is foreign to her ears and sends a shock of fear through her. Not fear of Thorin, but that she has done something wrong. Is she not supposed to move them behind his shoulder? But as her eyes snap upwards, his own are flickering dangerously between two others. Her head turns over her shoulder, finding Kili and Fili looking down bashfully, their hands clasped in their laps.

A sharp sigh leaves her throat in relief. Knowing better, she doesn’t ask what the word meant but Thorin’s snap and the brothers' reactions tell her that it was a scold of some type. Even a few other Dwarves had looked up. Maybe she could ask one of the brothers what they were doing to earn such a sharp scolding. 

Setting her jaw tight, she focuses on the work in front of her, pretending that it some pretentious Elf rather than their leader in front of her. Fortunately, the fire provides a beautiful cover for the warmth on her cheeks.


	26. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Worries and Rings

The company follows the lead of Thorin and Gailien. After meditating for over two hours the previous night, she saw enough to be able to determine the Orcs’ path relative to their own. Her slightly pointed ears can hear the trickle of shallow water over rocks and that is where she leads them to.

“This way,” she says to their leader, jogging through some more foliage. Thorin looks behind him, making sure his company are keeping up well enough. They have not seen any sign of the hunting pack in five days, but it would be foolish to think that they are not far behind. Only her foresight and Bilbo’s scouting has kept them hidden this long. The beginning of autumn has arrived, and their time is starting to tick, a constant clock in his head. Sometimes Gailien leads them in an obscure direction, away from their intended path and his instinct twitch to ignore her advice and stay on the track but his trust in her runs deep enough to silence that instinct.

The shallow creek finally reveals itself. Maybe deep enough to cover up to their mid-shins, enough to cloak their scent. “Here!” The company catch up, congregating at the creek bank. Gailien points out to the direction the current flows from. “I’ve seen them cross the water and head that way. If we travel down through the water following the current, it will mask our scent enough to put distance between us and them.” 

“Well, what are we waiting for!” Dwalin exclaims, becoming the first to walk into the water. Her guess is right, as the water reaches his mind shins, the water riding higher as he stands against the current. At his lead, the rest of the company wade in. Some groan as their boots and pants become drenched and Gailien feels the same way but the water irks her for different reasons. The same way heights do.

Even Gandalf is heard grumbling as his grey robes darken. Gailien wades through with the company, letting the others move ahead as her lead is finished.

“You seem a little off today,” Fili muses as he and his brother wade through the water on either side of her.

“Yes,” Kili agrees with a hint of mirth. “Like something is on your mind.”

Gailien looks between them with scrutinising eyes. Indeed, something has been on her mind, two things in fact. But neither would warrant such a suggestive tone from the princes. “I have some things on my mind that I wish to discuss with Gandalf,” she answers, watching them for their reactions.

“And what are these things?” Fili questions, no sense of privacy. “Not to do with a certain Dwarf, are they? Though, I’m not sure why you would want to speak about that to Gandalf?”

“I don’t know. He’s old, he might have some good advice,” Kili banters with his brother. Gailien snaps her head between the two.

“I have absolutely no idea what you both are on about. I need to speak with Gandalf about something I saw many weeks ago that has nothing to do with Dwarves or the company,” she says, ending their little conversation over her.

“Oh, well that sounds boring,” Kili remarks with a shrivelled nose as his interest is lost. Gailien rolls her eyes but smiles at their company. 

“What were you both doing last night that got Thorin in such a snap?” Gailien questions, recalling Thorin’s blazing glare at the both of them. “And in your native tongue at that.”

Kili stays silently, his eyes wandering around the sparse woods, forcing his brother to answer. “We were uh…talking,” Fili stumbles out.

Gailien raises a brow, tilting her head slightly in apprehension. “Talking? I’m not sure I believe that. For one, I didn’t hear either of you speak and I doubt Thorin would be cross with you for talking.”

“Well, it wasn’t verbal as such. Dwarves have a secret hand language that we can talk with,” he explains. Gailien is still confused.

“Was he angry because he didn’t want me to see it? As a non-Dwarf I mean,” she questions. Both of them shake their heads quickly.

“Nah, the whole purpose of it is so we can talk in front of enemies without them hearing – not that you’re an enemy!” Kili says, voice rising slightly at the end. “He just saw what we were talking about.”

Her suspicions are raised but her mind reels it in. “I probably don’t want to even know what it was about, so I won’t ask,” she mutters. What could such a topic be that would warrant them needing to use a silent language and for Thorin’s reaction. They are jokesters, so perhaps they were planning on some type of practical joke on another member. As long as she is not the victim…

The Dwarves begin exiting the creek, back onto a grassy field with a few large rocks to at as a cover for both them and their fire. The creek itself ends as well into a large, dark pond. At least the Dwarves will be able to bath and rid themselves of the growing stench. Not that she is clean herself.

Thorin sends out the usual orders, having camp set up between two large rocks which provide cover from both the direction the Orcs should be travelling from and the pond itself. At least she will not have to worry about diverting her eyes. Ever since Rivendell, she has been very vigilant about avoiding them during their bathing time.

Taking up her usual job, she places her pack near the side and then sets out in search of food for fuel. Once her arms are weighed down, she returns to camp, dumping them on the ground in the middle where Bombur is already beginning to prepare their dinner.

“I don’t know what we’d do without you, Bombur,” she grins. “I can barely cook well enough to serve myself.” Her knees fall to the ground as she and Bofur begin putting the fire pit together.

“Well I didn’t get this big waiting for other people to serve me food,” he retorts with a joyful smile that glints in his eyes. Gailien laughs, turning her head to Bofur.

“How are your carvings coming along? Anything new?”

“Ah! I’ve been trying to get the details right in a fish,” he says, sighing at the end. “But those scales are driving me over the edge.”

“Well, take your time with them, there is no rush.”

Gailien still has the small wooden bear tucked away in her pack. Whenever her hands need to fiddle with something she would take it out, letting her fingers trace the grooves until she could memorise every detail about it.

“Oi!” Thorin calls out to the company. “Go wash yourselves you filthy lot!” The Dwarves cheer, already beginning to strip off their outer clothing. Bombur assures her that dinner just needs a few stirs but will fine cooking until he returns. Everybody par Gandalf and Gailien leave, even Bilbo and Thorin leaving to go down to the water. She will wash later when it is dark and with less possible prying eyes – not that she thinks any would on purpose, but she already knows that it can happen without intention.

With no better time than the present, Gailien saunters over to Gandalf’s spot, perched on a lower flat of the rock. “I was fearing my nostrils would never smell fresh air again,” she jokes as the Dwarves all disappear.

“I was thinking the same until you sat down.” Gailien’s jaw drops in offence but before she can protest, she sniffs herself slightly then finds nothing but agreement to his words.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go down later,” she laughs. “But I do have something that I would like to discuss.”

“I was wondering when you would tell me,” he says in his typical knowing tone. Gailien gives him a look but ignores it.

“Back before the Goblins, I had a prophecy,” she begins to explain. “Bilbo was alive and seemingly well but old. So, it mustn’t be pass one hundred years from now. I saw Mordor, Gandalf. Mordor and a ring.”

“Did you now?”

“I am not oblivious to this world’s history. I know it has to be the one ring. But there was war, and so much bloodshed.” Her voice falters into horror at the image of the corpses. Corpses of all races. “Sauron is rising, isn’t he? That is why you leave so often? You’re seeing to the growing evils, to see if they’re true.”

“I fear your prophecy will become true,” Gandalf admits darkly, his pipe tucked between tight lips. “And yes, that is what I have been doing.”

“But this quest? It won’t interfere with the Dwarves, will it? We are barely keeping a single Orc party off our trail and we still have to face Smaug,” she questions with a deep-rooted concern. Even from here, she can hear laughter and splashing of water.

“I think you would be better at answering that than me,” he replies with a tilted head. Gailien nods, scratching her neck. Not only has she been trying to keep track of their own future, but the future beyond their current path – to see if she can foretell the events at Erebor but she has been shown nothing but half-second flashes that are so quick that she has not been able to make anything of them. It seems that their future is so undetermined that even she cannot read it. Every decision they make will count. “You know,” Gandalf says, his tone shifting as he changes the topic, “I never expected you to grow so fond of the Dwarves, or them to you. I thought you would tolerate each other enough after a while but both you and Bilbo have proven to be more than you appear.”

“It is hard not to grow fond of them when you spend every day with them.” Her mouth tweaks up into an affection smile as a few Dwarves start making their way back to camp, their hair damp and dripping. “You see past their hard exteriors.”

“That you do,” Gandalf agrees in his typical all-knowing mysterious way.

Xx

With their bellies full, the company sit around the campfire and listen to stories that Gailien is sure each Dwarf exaggerates but it provides entertainment, nonetheless. Most nights they would go straight to sleep after small chatter, but everybody seems in a good enough mood and with the Orcs off their tail for a little while longer, it seems fit to enjoy the night.

All except for Gailien.

Bofur is the one talking at the moment, narrating a story where he and Bifur were at a tavern and some men wanted to pick a fight with them. He uses his mouth to audible describe every sound as his hands flail in the air dramatically. All the Dwarves listen intently, laughing or arguing with the details.

But Gailien’s mind has been running over what Thorin had said the previous night. After they finish the quest. What is she to do? She has no home, no family or friends that she longs to return to. These Dwarves, whether they know it or not, have become that for her. And yet, she will have to leave them all behind. Why couldn’t she have been born a Dwarf? Or a Hobbit and never have left the Shire.

Feeling like her moping mood is polluting the joyous atmosphere, Gailien silently excuses herself from the camp. She has already washed but her feet take her down to the deep pond and the sound of the Dwarves grows small and smaller. The pond is silent, void of ripples or any sign of life.

This is what her life is going to be like. The sound of other’s happiness ringing in her ears as she stands alone in silence. She lets her weight pull her down, her backside sitting in the dampen grass, no doubt from waves of water sent up onto the bank from earlier. Sliding her boots off, her legs rest out in front of her, letting her feet swirl around in the pond.

“Sick of their stories?” Gailien nearly jumps out of her skin as she didn’t even hear him come up to her. “Sorry, you just didn’t look like you should be left alone.”

Fili sits down next to her but crosses his legs instead. “No, they’re wonderful. I just need to think,” she shrugs, not wanting to burden him with her own problems. “You can go back if you want. I’m afraid I won’t be the best company.”

“That just gives me all the more reason to stay,” he replies without a beat missing. “You need somebody to talk to you and won’t hold any judgement.” Gailien stays quiet, debating in her head whether she should say anything or not. “Did you see something that is worrying you?”

“No, I just….” She sighs, frowning as she looks over her shoulder, barely able to see the edge of the company from her view. “I’ve haven’t had someone I could call my family for a long time. I’ve been searching for most of my life for somewhere that I can belong, to feel normal in.”

“Has someone said something ill to you?” Fili questions with a large frown, causing deep wrinkles in his forehead and his eyes. Gailien shakes her head, smiling pathetically.

“No, it’s the exact opposite!” Her head falls into her hands as her toes dig into the mix of dirt and rock in the water. “This company… I finally feel like I belong somewhere. I feel at home with all of you. Even Dori! And I can’t help but think about what is going to happen after this quest ends. I’m assuming all of you will stay in the mountain. Bilbo will return to the Shire. And I’ll be…wandering again.”

Fili listens to her words intently. He personally, had never thought about what would happen to their two non-Dwarf members after the quest. He just dismissed it as they will return home. But she has none. “When we reclaim Erebor, you should stay with us,” he offers, placing a hand on her shoulder. Gailien peeks out of her hands.

“I don’t think it is entirely your place to offer such a thing,” she answers slowly. Fili shrugs, not worried in the slightest.

“Thorin wouldn’t object. Actually, I’m sure he would insist,” Fili muses with a small smile in an attempt to cheer her up. “Thorin is just as fond of you as Kili is and my brother hardly leaves your side.” This does earn a short snort of laughter, her chest vibrating. “Thorin even had Dwalin ask him to sharpen some of their axes just to give you a break.” His words are spoken in truth as the younger brother is nearly around her just as much as he is around Fili. She is keen on his company though and would not change it for the world. But then her mood sours once again.

“Yes, but what about when the other Dwarves return to their home. The ones that don’t know me. All they see will be these-“ she tucks her hair away, letting her slightly pointed ear poke through “-and they will not have the chance to know me as you all do. I’ll face the same thing I do everywhere else.”

“Maybe you should learn to ignore them.” Gailien frowns, not sure if she should feel offended. Fili shakes his head, squeezing her shoulder. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but wherever you go you are going to face the same problem because there are always going to be people who don’t know you as I do. As we do. If you want to stay with us that much, then you need to be brave enough to ignore those who don’t. It is your choice whether you wish to stay with us or not, and I would love for you too, but it is also your choice to ignore other’s opinions.”

Gailien’s eyes water, feeling like a child needing to be taught how to stand up for herself. Like Fili is the older one, yet he is a fraction of her age but with more wisdom than she can hope for. “I don’t know how to.” The words are barely a whisper, but Fili hears them all too well. Instead of answering which would do no good as tears begin to streak down her face, he pulls her into a hug instead. Gailien shudders, letting her head burry in his coat as her hands clasp around his back. He slowly soothes her, brushing a hand through her hair and lightly kissing her forehead.

Thorin scans the camp, looking for his sister-son. “Where is your brother?” Kili barely looks to him, his attention on the story being told.

“He’s talking with Gailien,” he answers. “They’re at the pond I think.”

Thorin notes that Gailien is indeed missing as well. Wanting to make sure they are alright, Thorin moves around the edge of the camp, walking out past their large rocky cover. He quints through the dark light but they are easy enough to see. They’re not exactly talking, is all he can think. With his jaw locked, Thorin returns to the camp, passing by his old spot and chooses to retire to his bedroll instead.


	27. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Bears and Wargs

After confiding in Fili the previous night, Gailien does admit she feels somewhat better about the prospects of her life after the quest has finished. Maybe this is the advice she needed to hear – to learn to ignore the opinions of others. As strange as it sounds, the thought never occurred to her. She was a member of the court in Mirkwood and people’s opinions meant everything. It determined whether they trust you, who you could marry, where your influence lies. So to hear that she has the option of disregarding them came to her like a rock on the head.

But it is not as simple as closing her ears off to the world. Words will still reach them, wriggling around like bugs across her mind as they seek to penetrate her thoughts. Even now, just thinking over things she has heard being said creates pinpricks in her heart.

And even though Fili assured her that Thorin would not hesitate to open his doors to her, she can’t help but have a little doubt that he would be so willing to let an Elf into his Dwarvish kingdom, no matter how friendly they are.

Gailien shoves her worries and thoughts to the back of her mind. Focus on the present and foresee the future. Unfortunately, the previous night was an emotional mess and by the time she returned to camp, most of the Dwarves were already well asleep and her own eyes barely stayed open. She fell asleep without meditating and no visions have to come to her this morning unexpectedly so now they are relying on Bilbo’s scouting skills.

The Orcs have changed direction overnight and now step on their heels. The woodland grass scenery has changed as the rocks become even more common and the Dwarves (plus Gandalf and Gailien) wait hidden in the valley as their burglar-Hobbit scurries ahead. They wait quietly, murmuring amongst themselves as they wait for Bilbo’s return.

“I’m starving,” she mutters to Dwalin, rubbing her stomach. Even though the sun is well past the middle of the sky, they have not had the time to stop for lunch and they awoke too early for her stomach to feel hungry. So now, she faces the consequences of a growling stomach.

“You and me both, lass,” Dwalin growls with the same displeasure. “Don’t have any of those nuts left do ya’?”

“No, Kili’s slimy fingers stole them all the other day.” She glares over her shoulder at the young prince who is conversing with his brother, not noticing her eyes. Not that she is truly mad. In fact, she had watched him sneakily dive into her pack and watched in amusement as he pulled them out, sneaking away. She turns back to Dwalin, smirking slightly. “You must be hungry if you’re asking for nuts. Last I remember, you turned your nose up at them.”

“All I can say is that the grass is looking tempting right about now.” He goes to say something more, glancing back at the woman but her eyes are planted forward, hazed over. He calls over Thorin quietly. Thorin breaks his conversation with Balin, sauntering over as Dwalin gestures to Gailien.

Not that she knows, but they’ve taken a habit of watching over her while she is in her vision and not in meditation, not wanting another accident to happen. She joked about it one night, telling them how she nearly got trampled by horses on the main road of Gondor years ago and after the incident with the fire, they decided not to take any more risks.

Gailien breaks from her vision, stumbling slightly as she brings herself back into the present. Thorin’s arms reach out, holding her bicep to steady her. She blinks, making a perplexed face. “I saw…Bees,” she says vacantly. “Giant…Bees.” She shakes her head, giving both Dwarves an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything helpful.”

Not all of her visions are what she desires to see, naturally. She sees all sorts of things – the weather, the next day’s meal, odd glimpses of scenery. She refrains from annoying Thorin with the mundane things.

Thorin squeezes her bicep then drops his hand. “It is no matter. Bilbo should be returning soon.” It is a small reassurance, but one she needs to feel the comfort that Thorin still does not see her as a hassle. The easy dismissal – no complaining, huffing or ignoring. Just acceptance. Within a few minutes, Bilbo is rushing back to the company. “How close is the pack?”

“Too close, couple of leagues, no more,” Bilbo worries. “But that’s not the worst of it.”

“Have the Orcs picked up our scent?” Dwalin questions, cutting Bilbo off.

“Not yet, but they will do. We have another problem.”

Again, before he can explain, Gandalf interrupts him. “Did they see you?” he pesters. “They saw you.”

Bilbo shakes his head, letting his overgrown locks shake. “No, that’s not it.” Gandalf relaxes, leaning against his staff.

“Good, what did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material.”

The Dwarves beginning passing on agreements to the person next to them. Gailien rolls her eyes, pushing off the rock she has been leaning on. “I think Bilbo has more to say,” she calls loudly over their voices. They quieten. “If you would allow him to speak.”

She gestures to Bilbo who nods in thanks. “I’m trying to tell you that there is something else out there,” he warns, pointing to the direction he came from. A few Dwarves, including Thorin sigh at the revelation.

“What form did it take? Like a bear?” Gandalf asks. Gailien frowns, a few heads snapping to Gandalf. That is a very odd, but specific question to ask, she thinks. What does he know?

“Ye…” Bilbo does his own little double-take, shocked that the Grey Wizard has any idea what he is talking about. He thought he would sound insane trying to describe the beast. “Yes, but bigger. Much bigger.”

With the assumption that Gandalf knows exactly what Bilbo is talking about, all eyes turn to him. “You knew about this beast?” Bofur asks. Without answering, Gandalf turns away from the company in thought. “I say we double back.”

“We’ll be run down by a pack of Orcs,” Thorin counters. Giant bees and now giant bears? Gailien begins to wonder is they’ve wandered into some sort of cursed land. But she agrees with Thorin – they cannot turn back.

“There is a house, it’s not far from here, where we might take refuge,” Gandalf announces, intoning on the ’might’.

“Whose house?” Thorin questions. “Are they friend or foe?”

“Neither” is Gandalf’s simple answer. “He will help us or he will kill us.”

“That’s not unsettling at all,” she mumbles. Gailien tilts her head from side to side, visibly weighing up the options. “That’s fifty-fifty, Thorin. Better than the one hundred if we don’t.” To emphasise her point, a roar is heard, presumable owned by the beast.

There is no further debate and the company starts sprinting out of the Carrock, Gandalf leading them into an open plain. If were a nicer day, Gailien might have been tempted to stop and enjoy the sight of the small flower fields of purple petals, but Gandalf’s constant beckoning and the Orcs on their tails keep her moving forward.

They exit the plains into a woody area once again. Gailien curses to herself as her leg twinges in pain, not yet fully recovered but she doesn’t dare let her pace slow. In fact, she even passes Gloin and Oin with how determined she is to keep up.

Gandalf leads them into a small clearing, and they pause for a moment as Gandalf resets his bearings. The creature roars again, only this time much closer. Gailien’s eyebrows raise slightly in curious fear, trying to imagine the bear that Bilbo described.

“This way! Quickly!”

Gailien grabs Kili’s forearm as he continues to look in the direction of the beast’s call, pulling him along until he starts running himself. Quick glances over her shoulder assure her that the rest of the company is also behind her, including Thorin and Fili. Bilbo is a few meters behind her. The woods end into another dry grass field but a few hundred yards ahead is what looks like a house. With all credits due, Bombur sprints past her with astonishing speed – natural sprinters, Dwarves are.

“Into the house!” Gandalf cries. “Run!”

The house is surrounded by a large green shrubbery fence, no doubt a few Dwarves high with a single entryway created by a crafted wooden arch. Gandalf waits at the archway as the company begins storming onto the property grounds. Gailien passes the threshold and is in slight wonder. There are large trees, creating a small forest and hay roofed huts. The ground is well tended to with gravel path and established garden areas. But what intrigues her the most are the abnormally large bees – the ones from her vision.

She barely has time to smile or watch them in wonder however as the creature is still on their heels and they have yet to reach safety. “Come on! Get inside!” The last Dwarf runs pass the threshold as Bombur is the first to reach the door, smashing right into it. The brothers are the next to reach, slamming their fists against the thick wood. Gailien reaches it next and begins to try and look for a way to open it but the creature growls behind them, almost upon them. She spins, watching wide-eyed and frozen as the large bear-like creature (because it certainly is not a normal bear) runs on all four paws towards them.

“Open the door!” Gandalf orders as the Dwarves bang against it.

“Quickly!” Thorin cries, pushing past all the Dwarves and breaking Gailien from her frozen state. He pushes a lever up, unlocking the front door and the entire company scrambles in at the very last moment possible. They try to close the door but the creature jams it head through the opening. Gailien pushes her back against the wood, grunting as her feet slide against the floor, pushing all her weight into it.

“Come on, lads!” Dwalin yells from above her, his large arms towering over her head. With a final heave, the Dwarves and Gailien manage to push the door shut and the wooden shaft is put in place to lock it. Gailien puffs her cheeks, wiping the accumulating sweat off her forehead.

“What is that?” Ori questions Gandalf.

“That is our host,” Gandalf answers. Gailien’s jaw opens. “His name is Beorn, he’s a skin-changer. Sometimes he’s a huge black bear, sometimes he’s a great strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However, he is not over-fond of Dwarves.”

“I’m beginning to think facing the Orcs might have been a better idea,” she mutters, half-joking, half meaning her words. The odds don’t seem to be in their favour either way. Bofur, who is walking past makes a face of wide-eyed agreement.

The house is almost like a barn. The ground is littered in hay strands and there are large farm animals just resting over in one corner. There are buckets and other ordinary things lying about, looking well used.

“He’s leaving,” Ori says, leaning away from the door.

“Come away from there!” Dori cries, pulling the younger Dwarf away from the door. “It’s not natural, none of it. It’s obvious, he’s under some dark spell.” Gailien now only rolls her eyes at Dori’s words, already knowing that he has a tendency to have harsh judgement.

“Don’t be a fool,” Gandalf says. “He’s under no enchantment but his own. Alright now, get some sleep all of you. You’ll be safe here tonight.” Gailien sighs, walking past him to find a spot to sleep in, just overhearing Gandalf mutter “I hope.”

It does nothing to settle her nerves, but if the man that resides in the bear’s body is reasonable enough, then they may have found a haven for a few nights where the Orcs cannot reach them. There is no way that they would attack with the bear on guard. 

Following the Grey Wizard’s advice, the company begin settling down amongst the hay covered ground. Gailien settles down near on of the pillars, letting her bedroll roll out underneath her. Out of habit, she crosses her legs and closes her eyes, preparing to meditate but a hand rest on her knee. She slowly peels her eyes open, finding Thorin sitting down next to her in his own bedroll.

“Not tonight,” he says. “Just get some rest.”

Part of her wants to protest since she hadn’t the previous night either but there is no arguing that she is tired. “If you insist.” Uncrossing her legs, she slides down under her cover, resting on her back. The hay isn’t the most comfortable bedding, but it does beat many of the hard, rocky grounds they have had in the last few weeks. One of the large bees flies over their heads, hovering.

“The bees from your vision,” Thorin observes. Gailien smiles fondly at it. “I hope they don’t sting us while we sleep.”

Her smile drops at his worry. “I wasn’t worried about that until you brought it up,” she grumbles. “That’s all I’m going to be able to think about now.” She crawls deeper into her cover, bringing it up past her shoulders. Thorin almost laughs but it stays most as an amused smile. Her loose hair tickles her chest and a hand slithers up to play with the fraying ends. She needs to cut it. Perhaps Beorn will have some scissors lying around that she can use since using a knife would not be ideal.


	28. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Strands of Hair

Beorn as a human looks still as mighty as a bear. His large eyebrows almost mould into his hair, accentuating his long strong-boned face. But his eyes. Gailien can see the kindness behind them. They sit at a large table, her elbows resting on it sit level with her chest. Beorn had offered her a drink but after seeing the size of the tankard, she politely declines.

The company (par Gandalf) barely reach his hip bone and Gailien feels even smaller than usual. She stares at her arms which look like they could be his veins. How could she have ever thought she was strong when this man exists?

She scolded Thorin when they awoke as it did take her longer than she would have liked to fall asleep as her body could not settle with the constant buzzing of the bees. But it seems that she will have to get used to it as Beorn has agreed to let them stay for a few nights. They will replenish their stocks and let their bodies recover from the past few hard weeks and in return, the Dwarves will use their skills around the house – mending and crafting anything that Beorn requires.

“Not many travelling tradesmen around here,” Beorn had said. It was quite an introduction they had with the man as the Dwarves arrived in pairs – Gailien and Bilbo being the first.

Gailien does feel bad, not proficient enough in any craft to be able to do anything and she fears that if she tries to help, she will only make it worse for whoever she does try to assist. But after expressing her lack of knowledge to the tall man, he asked her if she would be willing to help with the animals – feeding and grooming if they needed it. She readily agrees and he gives her a quick tour of what she will need to do. It is easy enough; hay once a day for the horses, checking them over for any bites or wounds. The larger livestock is fine on its own, but the chickens also need to be fed and couped up at night.

With Beorn ready to patrol at any time, the Orcs stay at bay, lying hidden beyond the tree line which allows the Dwarves to roam the property without worry of being attacked.

The horses are stunning. Black and white paints with feathered hooves and flowing manes. They are taller than the ponies they rode out from Bag End – she hopes Clove made it somewhere safe – but still smaller than a normal horse. Which reminds her to do her own hair.

She spends the morning with the horses, brushing them down and speaking Elvish to them which she finds more soothing to their ears than Common Tongue. Soon, lunch arrives and Gailien makes her way back inside. A few Dwarves are covered in dirt from their work.

“What have you boys been up to?” she asks the princes as they sit on the hay covered floor, eating a bowl of fresh stew. They are both sweaty, dirt smudges on their faces.

“Thorin was showing us how to forge a new lock for an iron gate,” Kili says, gesturing to his head to Thorin who is at the table instead. “Haven’t seen you all morning? What has he got you up to?”

“I’ve been helping around with the animals. And the company of horses is refreshing.” She may or may not have snuck them out some apples from the small orchard to earn their favour. And she must say, it was frightfully easy compared to some of these Dwarves.

“I’m sure the others would love to hear that,” Fili muses. “Preferring horses over them.”

“They don’t talk back,” she smirks, taking a sip of her oversized mug. “And they are much easier on the eye to look at.” The statement is true for the majority of the Dwarves, but she will not deny that there are a few handsome Dwarves among them. 

“Now I’m just offended,” Fili snorts.

“Don’t worry brother,” Kili sings, running a hand around Fili’s shoulders. “It’s just because we are so ruggedly good-looking that her Elvish eyes need a break.”

The three break out into laughter. “You caught me,” she says with teasing resignation. Kili keeps his bright smile planted on his face, enjoying the teasing and takes her words to heart. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m not easy on the eye at the moment either.” She tugs at her frizzy hair. “I’ll be back,” she offhandedly remarks.

Gailien stands, leaving her empty plate and mug in search of Beorn. Not that he is hard to find. The large man is out the back of the house, sitting with the chickens that are roaming around, pecking at the grass.

“Beorn,” she greets. “I was wondering if you have any scissors that I would be able to borrow.”

Beorn looks down to her as he towers over her even when he is sitting. “Wait here, small one.” Gailien smiles kindly, and a little timidly as Beorn stands to his full height and begins walking off to his shed. She waits, hands clasped in front of her as her ears pick up the sound of things being moved around in the shed.

“Oh!” Her feet jump back, the chook’s beak pecking at her toes through her boots. She resists the urge to kick it away and slowly pushes the side of her leg against it. It clucks, flapping its wings but moves off to another place.

“Here, small one.” Beorn returns, holding out a pair of scissors. They are a little large in her hands, but the blade is sharp and clean.

“Thank you. I shall return them as soon as I am done.” Beorn nods, sitting back down on the hay pile to return watching his chickens. Though she loves animals, she does question what entertainment watching chickens could possibly bring. Maybe it allows him to think.

With the scissors by her side, Gailien saunters back into the house. Most of the Dwarves have left, save a few who are still in conversation – drinking and eating. Her feet take her back to her bedroll where she will be able to catch the falling hair, so it does not drift around his home.

Crossing her legs, she undoes her pony and takes out another leather strap from her pack. She splits her hair into two strands, tying the leather just below half-way behind her so when she pulls them over, they will be of even length. Not that it matters too much, since she wears her hair tied back most of the time.

She pulls the right one over her shoulder, tilting her head to see it better and starts the bring the scissors up to it.

“What are you doing?!”

The voice of Kili startles her so much, that she drops the hair, her muscles stiffening as she searches to find whatever Kili sounds so aghast about. To her utter astonishment, he is staring right at her with a look of dread. Her own eyes are wide, shifting between the Dwarf and the scissors. The remaining Dwarves are now also staring at her with a mixture of expressions.

“I’m…I’m cutting my hair. It’s gotten long-“

“Why in Durin’s name are you doing that?” Fili gasps. Gailien slowly picks up her unruly strands of hair again. The ends are broken, splitting and dry. Not to mention living in the wild has caked them I dirt but that could be handled with a good wash.

“Because...Because it’s long!” she cries, completely perplexed. She knows that Dwarves only cut their beards in shame or grieving, and but Kili never mentioned anything about the hair on their heads. And she is not a Dwarf.

“I think I need one myself,” Bilbo calls out, twirling one long piece of his own hair that sits at the base of his neck. The Dwarves’ stares shift to him. Bilbo notices their eyes and drops his hair, looking around them with the same expression as Gailien. “What?”

Thorin pushes his chair back, the legs grating against the wood loudly. He marches over to her with heavy feet. Leaning down slightly, the King plucks the scissors from her hands.

“I need to give those back to Beorn!” she cries.

“I will do so,” is all Thorin replies. He walks past his old seat, walking straight towards the door leading to the garden. The only sound is his footsteps then the door hitting the frame as it closes behind him. Gailien and Bilbo are left with the mouths hanging open. Neither of them has any idea what has just happened.

Needing fresh air, and some time to comprehend what has just happened, Gailien stands back up, pulling the leather ties from her hair. “I’m going to stretch my legs then,” she mutters to whoever is listening. Silently she walks towards the door at the front of the house, feeling eyes on her back.

She squints as the sun pierces her eyes, but the air is refreshing from whatever tension was growing inside Beorn’s home. “That was so strange.” She shakes her head, pressing forward and walks around the property, making her way to the large field where the small horses roam. Her forearms lean against the fence, frowning slightly as she watches them gallop as a herd through the field, their long manes flowing like silk against the wind.

She is so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn’t hear Dwalin approaching until he stands next to her, resting a foot against a fence post. He holds out the scissors in his hand. “Here.”

Gailien frowns, taking them slowly. “I don’t understand what just happened,” she says, looking at the scissors as though they could offer her some type of explanation. But they are just as they look – scissors - and offer nothing.

Dwalin, on the other hand, does have words to offer her. “They thought that you were feeling ashamed of something.” Gailien scrunches her nose – it still doesn’t explain anything. Why would they think that?

“But I’m not a Dwarf,” she counters. “And I don’t have a beard.” It does make her wonder what she would look like with one though. It would be an interesting appearance.

“No, but you are an Elf,” Dwalin intones in a drawl. “Or at least, part of one. And unless we are mistaken, then an Elf cutting their hair is akin to a Dwarf shaving their beard. So, you can imagine what thoughts were running through their minds when you held the scissors to your hair.”

“Did that really warrant Thorin taking the scissors away though,” she counters with an eye roll. “I don’t follow Elf customs anymore.”

Dwalin sighs as the girl just doesn’t see exactly why they did not want her to do so. “You must understand lass, to see another Dwarf cutting their own beard is a hard sight, especially when they are kin. It is a shameful and grievous ceremony.” But Thorin keeps his beard short – she wants to counter. “Thorin… Thorin thinks highly of you so it is not a surprise to the rest of us that he would not want you to cut your hair, knowing its importance to Elves.”

Gailien stares down at the scissors still in her hands. Thorin thinks highly of her? Suddenly, she doesn’t feel the urge to cut her hair as much anymore. “It was just getting long,” she rebuts quietly. Dwalin chuckles softly, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“I know that lass. From the moment I saw you I knew you wouldn’t be like the rest of your race. I just had not figured out if that was a good thing or not.” Gailien smirks with a soft chortle.

“I hope you have now,” she says. Dwalin nods, perking his brows for a second.

“I sure have lass.” His hand drops resting on the picket next to him. “Tell me, Gailien, what are your thoughts on Thorin?” Gailien narrows his eyes, trying to determine the reasoning behind such a question.

“I thought we have already had this discussion,” she answers with caution.

“Rivendell was a long time ago,” Dwalin counters, meeting her narrowed eye. “Kili has been teaching you our culture, has he not?” Gailien nods affirmatively. “Well, then you would know the importance of braiding.” Dwalin sighs again, seeming to not enjoy this conversation either. “I only ask lass, because it is no secret that Thorin allowed you to-“

“Oh, you still have them!” Dwalin’s words are cut short as Bilbo appears, jogging slightly with a tint of red in his face. “Do you have any idea what that was all about back there?” Dwalin and Gailien share a look. She is not sure whether she is glad for Bilbo’s interruption since her curiosity is growling but a part of her is glad that she will not have to answer any of the questions he may ask.

“Just a culture muddle,” she answers. “I’m assuming you are after the scissors. I can trim your hair for you if you would like?” Her face stays towards the Hobbit but her eyes dart towards Dwalin. “Assuming it won’t cause an uproar,” she adds.

“Ignore them,” the warrior grumbles. “But you’re best to do it outside.” 

Dwalin saunters back to the house, leaving Bilbo still confused and Gailien even more so. Had it meant something – Thorin allowing her to touch his braids? “Let’s find somewhere to sit down, Bilbo,” she says, forcing her thoughts away. “Somewhere where they won’t stumble across the hair and strangle us.”

They find a quiet spot behind the shed and Gailien spends her time carefully trimming the Hobbit’s head of reddish curls. After she has finished, Bilbo offers to cuts hers, but she declines, stating that her hair is fine as it is, keeping it to herself that Thorin’s rooted discontent is the reason. Not that she will ever do something like this purely for a man but…maybe keeping her hair long will not be such a bad thing.

Keeping it short was a way to distance herself from her race who care very much so about its length and healthiness. That and it is slightly easier to care for shorter.


	29. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Honey Cakes

Beorn has employed her help in the kitchen for the afternoon as the rest of the Dwarves continue doing odd jobs around the property. Cooking has never been her strength, but the recipe is easy enough to follow and it is rather relaxing. Apparently Beornings were known for their remarkable honey-cakes, a sweet cake that Gailien has only ever had the pleasure of tasting a few times and is eager to see if Beorn’s claim is true.

As Beorn reaches past her as she swirls a wooden spoon around a large metal bowl, she cannot help but stare at his wrist which is cuffed in a shackle, the remanent of the chains dangling. Beorn has informed them already of the history of his people, his knowledge of Azog.

“I am not the only one to wear the shackles of my past,” he says. Gailien’s mouth opens partially, feeling slightly embarrassed for being caught staring. “Though you keep yours hidden by your clothes.”

“I have never been held prisoner,” she counters, her tone seeping with confusion. Her wrists and ankles are bare for she has indeed never been taken prisoner before. Beorn only gives her a knowing look.

“I do not mean the same type. But they both bind us to a time that we would rather forget.” He takes the bowl from her hands, pouring its contents into another. “Yet it is that exact same path that defines who we are today.”

Gailien’s now free hand slowly rises to her back, feeling the jagged skin even through her blouse (her jacket left by her bedroll). Lately, her thought process has been challenged and rather than combating that challenge, Gailien is beginning to embrace it. No easy feat, but one that she knows is needed.

“You do not remove yours even though you have the choice. The Dwarves could take it off within a day. Why?” she questions, feeling braver than normal. Though they could not be any more different in appearance, Beorn and Gailien share a similar nature which has drawn them to each other.

Beorn does not take any offence to the question, which she is grateful for. “Because it is a reminder of what I fought for. Who I fought for,” he emphasises. Gailien looks at his shackles once more. For years she cried, wanting nothing more than to be rid of her scars, to be normal and as tall as the other Elves yet Beorn stands here, letting his shackles hang from his wrists as a reminder by choice.

“I haven’t been fighting for anybody though,” she says quietly.

Beorn leans down, barely even reaching her height. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, small one. You can fight for yourself. And you wouldn’t be travelling with the Dwarves for so long if you did not consider them as worthy of your loyalty.”

Dwalin’s cry of outrage echoes through the house, followed by Balin and Thorin arguing about something trivial. Gailien smiles, knowing that Beorn is right.

“Come now,” he says, standing back up. “We have honey-cakes to make.”

And honey-cakes they made. A mountain of them, enough to feed an army of Dwarves and Hobbits for days. Gailien isn’t sure if Beorn just doesn’t know how much to feed the Dwarves, but he expresses his enjoyment at baking which he has not done in many years and Gailien doesn’t have the heart to express her feeble concerns.

Gailien snacks on the growing pile as the bake and by the time that Beorn is satisfied with the number of yellow cakes, her own stomach is sick, but she does admit that his are far better than any she has had before.

With the sun beginning the set, the Dwarves retire for the day and Bombur makes the usual stew, but they are gifted with fresh bread which soaks the stew nicely. The Dwarves all sit at the large table, chatting amiably about their day to any who will listen.

As Gailien bites into her slice of bread, a hand grasps her tied hair gently. “You didn’t cut it,” Fili notes with a small smile. “I’m glad.” Gailien shrugs, dismissing any importance it holds. “We thought you must have been terribly upset about something.”

“What would I have to be upset about?” she asks, trying to prove a point but Fili only tilts his head forward.

“You tell me.”

“Don’t worry, I’d still think you’re pretty even if you cut your hair,” Kili says offhandedly with a mouth full of food, sitting on her other side. Gailien snorts out a short laugh. She leans over, kissing his cheek.

“Thank you, Kili,” she chuckles. Not that she worries about being pretty, especially living on the road with Dwarves but the sentiment behind the compliment is all the same. Kili gives a bashful smile, blushing slightly. Gailien shares a mirthful glance with Fili who rolls his eyes.

As they finish off their evening meal, Beorn carries out a large tray piled with less than half of the honey-cakes they made that day. She swears Dwalin almost drools at the sight and hands reach for the sweet goods barely a moment after it touches the table.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing in the kitchen all afternoon,” Fili remarks, biting into his own. “Oh! This is good.” The same moans of pleasure erupt through the entire company, leaving Gailien in giggles over their exaggerated reactions. Though, she did make a similar sound when she first tried one.

“I’m guessing their good,” she says with sarcasm. As an answer, Fili reaches for another two. Her eyes search the company, pausing on Thorin who takes his time eating – though she can see the delight in his eyes. She moves her gaze on, fearing the humiliation of being caught staring. Soon the plate is emptied and Beorn brings out the second. The Dwarves look at with eagerness, but most hold their stomachs, already full.

A few select Dwarves, including Kili, Bombur, Dwalin, Balin, and Nori still dig into the second pile. Gailien watches in wonder as they just keep eating and before her eyes, the Dwarves begin murmuring amongst themselves.

“Do I smell a wager!?” Bofur exclaims, smirking as he glances around the company. Fists start pounding the tables in excited cheers. Even Beorn seems to enjoy the rowdiness of his company. She is happy that they are still able to keep their nature even after all this hardship and running. Hardiest folk of Middle Earth indeed.

Beorn brings the third and final tray of neatly stacked cakes and the Dwarves (and Bilbo, Gailien, and Gandalf) all rearrange the table, so the competitors sit on one side and the rest are able to watch. They are to eat until they can no longer.

Already knowing that Fili will want an advantage, she calms her mind, willing herself to see the outcome. A small spoiler which dampens her excitement, but she knows that Fili will appreciate the extra coin in his pocket. Things in such the near future are easy to see since they are so likely to happen.

Sure enough, the momentary vision of a certain Dwarf’s success reveals itself. She and Fili stand to the side of the table, Kili being one of the participants.

“So. Are you still going to play favourites, or will you let me in on your knowledge?” Fili asks in a quiet voice, not wanting to give anybody else the same idea. Gailien nudges him with his elbow.

“I don’t have favourites,” she counters. “And how do you know I’ve seen it?”

“Please,” he scoffs. “I can tell when you have visions.”

Gailien laughs softly I resignation. “Alright, but I want payment for my efforts.” Of course, she is going to tell him either way but may as well make a profit from it all since she will likely not be allowed to place her own bet. Gloin is already going around, taking note of their wagers.

“Even split?” he offers, holding his hand out subtle between them. Gailien nods but keeps her face forward, sliding her hand into his. They shake once and drop their hands back.

“Dwalin,” she whispers. Fili scrutinises her, expecting the answer to be Bombur but she has no reason to lie if she profits from his wager as well.

“I should have you two called out for cheating.”

Gailien jumps slightly, barely keeping her feet on the ground as Thorin’s voice growls with mirth behind them. Even Fili stiffens, arms jolting out slightly as is a warrior’s instinct. Gailien half turns, meeting Thorin’s eyes with a glare.

“You nearly gave me an early grave,” she hisses. Thorin raises an eyebrow, still waiting on her response to his accusation. “What’s your price?”

Thorin’s mouth lifts slightly and his hand pats his side. “My coin purse is feeling a little light.”

Gailien stares at him over her shoulder as they seem to be testing the other’s will. But Thorin doesn’t have anything to lose if she does not give in, but she will be caught out for unfair play. Fili waits silently, watching them both. Finally, Gailien shakes her head, letting the smile that has been threatening to play it, display. “Dwalin,” she answers his unasked question.

Thorin narrows his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“It’s the same name she told me,” Fili replies.

“Don’t you trust me, Thorin?” Her tone is cheeky and playful, meaning to play on their history. Thorin rolls his eyes as his own smile grows. Gloin comes around and takes Thorin and Fili’s wagers, missing over her with a quick glare and she smiles back innocently. Thorin stays with the pair, standing by her other side as the competitors begin eating, Bofur counting each round.

Her forearms rest against the table, watching the five Dwarves stuff their faces. Kili is the first to go, not unexpectedly but he barely holds back regurgitating all over the table and walks away slowly with his hand held over his stomach. He comes back to his brother’s side who gives him a hard pat on the back. Kili glares at him, becoming a sickly colour and for a moment, Gailien prepares herself to jump out of the way if need be but it never comes.

Next to give out is Nori who is so full that he just lays his head on the table, not bothering to even return to the audience. Nobody groans at his exit and Gailien suspects that almost everybody has wagered on Bombur. Balin, who she is honestly surprised even joined in, finally gives out and the company breaks out into laughter as he barely rolls off his stool.

Her hands clasp in front of her face as her nose scrunches with her laughter. As she steps to balance herself, her foot lands on Fili’s and she quickly removes it, mumbling an apology as she tries to balance herself. A soft hand lays against her lower back at the same time her hand reaches out for the table. Butterflies erupt in her stomach, knowing exactly who the hand belongs to, but he keeps looking forward, as though his head and hand are two separate entities that have no idea what the other is doing.

It stays there, whether he realises it or not, she does not know but she doesn’t dare move. Her torso leans against the table slightly painfully, and she blames the warmth of the hearth for the heat on her face. Her attention is poured onto the two remaining contestants.

Dwalin and Bombur sit next to each other, pressing more honey-cakes into their mouths as Bofur counts on with growing excitement each time the number grows. It is a ridiculous amount and she wonders where they store it all, but no one has vomited yet so she concludes that they must have either overly large stomachs or very quick digestion.

Focus. Bombur. Dwalin. Honey-cakes. Then she can feel his eyes on her, but she isn’t courageous enough to meet them, her eyes pointed towards the cakes but her mind anywhere but. Her small smile drops though, as she realises how close his hand plays to her jagged scar that he would be able to feel through her clothing.

She doesn’t want to reject his advancements – if they are even that, but she fears that if he does move his hand ever so slightly, she will react in a way that will make him never want to touch her again.

“I need a drink” is her pathetic excuse that she mutters, pushing off the table and turns away before her eyes can glimpse at his reaction. But as she reaches the threshold of the kitchen area, she glances back and Thorin is laughing, watching the small competition take place.

She takes the water pitcher, filling one of the smallest mugs she can find and downs the water like a thirsty horse. The cup almost slams against the table in her hand. Whatever she feels for Thorin is supposed to be a childish crush and she had no intentions of acting on them. And he just has to make things harder for her but doing things that make her heart flutter.

He has never made a show of any affection before, so she knows that this was just a reaction to the atmosphere of the night, but it is cruel to play on her like this. And even if she is to entertain the idea of something happening – nothing logically could. He is a king and a Dwarf and that is why she has been happy until this point just letting her mind run with fantasies.

“Here’s your half.” Gailien snaps her head around as Fili stands behind her, holding out a few gold coins.

She shakes her head, managing a small smile. “Keep them. I have no need for gold.”

Fili waits a moment but pockets the money before slowly walking up to her, leaning against the counter with her. “Are you going to come back out and join us?”

Their mood is much too joyous for her at this time but perhaps before the end of the night, she will manage to leave her solemn mood. “Later,” she promises.

But her promise is broken as Gailien stays in the kitchen until the Dwarves start settling down into their bedrolls and she wanders out past them into the front garden. Luckily, she has already done her duties before dinner, so she doesn’t need to chase around the chickens in the dark or check over the other livestock.

The autumn night is cool on her skin and she wishes she had her jacket on, but it is refreshing from the overly warm house. Her Elvish eyes can see well in the dark so there is no danger of running her toes into anything. There isn’t anything particular that has drawn her outside, even feeling a little hesitant with the knowledge that the Orcs still prowl around them with only Beorn’s efforts keeping them at bay.

In the silence of the night, she can easily hear the door opening and the crunching of boots on gravel. “I’ll come in soon, Fili.”

“Not Fili I’m afraid,” Thorin responds, sauntering up behind her. “Though I can retrieve him if you would rather speak your mind to my nephew.”

Gailien is a little caught off guard, both by her new company and is offered. “Oh, no it’s fine. I just promised him I would return earlier.” Thorin continues walking until he stands next to her.

“So, will you speak your mind to me then? What has you so troubled?”

“Why do you think I am troubled?” she counters, though he isn’t wrong with his assumption. “The Dwarves are loud, and I just needed a small break is all.”

“I thought trust was supposed to go both ways,” he rebuts with one brow raised and his head tilted down to her slightly. Gailien meets his eyes, almost feeling guilty for lying but if she is to speak what is on her mind, it will not be to him.

“It is nothing to worry over,” she answers eventually, almost feeling uncomfortable in the silence that lays thickly in the air. “I’ve just over thought a few things. Nothing sleep will not ward off.” Her mouth opens and closes a few times as she looks over the Dwarf. She swallows, hesitantly forcing the question from her throat. “You don’t have to answer if you do not wish to do so, but.” She pauses, sighing as Thorin watches her silently. “Your beard. Why do you cut it?”

Thorin adjusts the weight on his feet as a conscious hand rises to the short hairs on his face. Gailien sucks her lips feeling guilty for even asking such a personal question but it has been in the back of her mind ever since she learned about it.

“I do it to honour those who died by Smaug’s fire.” His voice is smooth, edged with only a slight rasp. “And I will continue to do so until he has been destroyed and Erebor once again belongs to the Dwarves.”

Gailien understands the importance of the action. For a king to cut their beard is usually a grievous thing but he does it willingly and for such a beautiful reason. It touches her heart and she cannot help the water flowing to her eyes, though she does hold them from falling. “Thank you. For telling me.”

Thorin nods then takes another step forward. His hand reaches towards her, snaking past her shoulder and around to her neck. His fingers run through her hair. “I’m sorry for earlier. I should not have stopped you from cutting your hair if you wish to.”

“You won’t take the scissors away from me again?” she taunts, secretly glad that the conversation has returned to a state of normalcy. Thorin huffs, letting her hair fall down onto her back once more. “I’m teasing. In a very strange way, I’m flattered that you care.”

He smiles bashfully though his stance doesn’t falter – still as confident as ever. “That reminds me. I have something for you.”

Thorin reaches down into his small waist pocket as Gailien watches in surprise. She has not been given a gift in hundreds of years, let alone for no reason at all – besides Bofur’s bear but that was more of a passing down. Thorin pulls something small out of the pocket and holds it up high between his fingers for her to see. It is small and made of metal with tiny engravings – decorative patterns. Her eyes widen as she realises what it is.

“You made me a hair bead?” she gasps, reaching out slowly, fearful that if one of them is to drop it, it will be lost in the grass forever. Thorin places it carefully in her hand.

“We had leftover metal from doing the repairs and it thought it would like it. I know how much you’ve been learning about our culture and after everything that you’ve been through with the company, I thought it would perfectly represent your place amongst us. If you wish to wear it, that is.”

“Of course,” she says, nodding feverishly. Her free hand pulls at her loose ponytail. “Though I’m going to have to detangle it before I can even think about braiding a piece.” Holding it tight in her fingers, she reaches her arms out, wrapping them tightly around his neck. “Thank you, this means a lot to me.” Thorin’s arms embrace her back.


	30. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Elven Entrance

Gailien fiddles with her new beaded braid. That morning Thorin announced they would be leaving in a few hours – with Beorn patrolling to give them a head start against the Orcs and Gailien quickly had a cold bath in the metal tub while the Dwarves had breakfast. With her hair brushed and clean, she braided her hair along her head for a few inches before it became loose with the rest of her hair. The silver bead is clasped at the end, holding the piece together and she can’t help but grin as her thumb brushes of the imprinted design. It is mostly a Dwarvish style pattern, with a different symbol in the middle. Possibly a rune of some sort but she only just noticed it and has not yet had the chance to ask.

Breaking from her spell, she ties her hair back behind her head and stands from her beadroll and begins rolling it back up. The rest of her things are already packed away so all that is needed to do is tie the roll down.

Kili wanders back over to her, handing her an apple and slice of bread. “You missed breakfast,” he says.

“Thank you,” she grins. “Don’t know what I would do without you. Actually, I do. I know that I wouldn’t have to hide my nuts deep in my pack. I could have had those instead.” She gives him a playful glare.

“That was Fili,” he defends through a struggling smile. Even if Gailien hadn’t seen him do so, the lie is so pathetic that a deaf man could hear it.

“Kili, I watched you,” she drawls. Kili’s defensive posture drops, but a shameless smile stays planted. “Are we leaving soon?”

Kili nods, looking over his shoulder back to where the other Dwarves congregate. “In a few minutes, I think.” Gailien picks her pack off the floor, heaving it over her shoulders. “Ah, so Thorin gave you the bead,” he intones.

Gailien beams, her fingers reaching back to find it amongst her tied hair. “Yes. It’s beautiful. I won’t lie, it feels a little strange to receive a gift from royalty when I had nothing to give in return.”

“A gift?”

Kili - to her own confusion - seems perplexed at her choice of words. He stares at the bead, tracing his eyes over the pattern. What else would it be considered besides a gift? “Yes,” she confirms. “He didn’t ask for any favours or money and correct me if I’m wrong – but is that not a gift?”

Kili shakes his head, a small smile reaching his lips. “No, you’re right. I have to talk to Fili.” Kili walks back to the congregated Dwarves, leaving Gailien’s eyes to follow him silently. She drops her hair again, readjusting her pack and slowly makes her way to the group.

Beorn returns from a scout, assuring them that the Orcs are far away enough to give them a good head-start. The tall, kind man has allowed them to borrow his horses and there are no objections (even from Bilbo) as they know that on foot, they will barely make a league before the Orcs are upon them.

Gailien knows exactly where they are headed but the knowledge has been suppressed until this day. They are headed for Mirkwood. A place she never intended to return to, yet now she is preparing to ride directly to it. It is a dangerous path to take, even for her. She will no doubt be the only member with any sort of resistance to the dark magic seeping through the forest, but it is just that – resistance, not immunity. She too will feel the effects on the mind if they stay in there too long.

As she finishes tying her thigs to the paint horse, something else jumps into her thought. Leaving the creature to eat the grass, she saunters through the mazes of horses and Dwarves until she finds Thorin who is conversing with Gandalf. They notice her arrival and pause their conversation.

“Is something wrong, my dear?” Gandalf questions, leaning on his staff. The middle of Thorin’s brows twitches slightly. Gailien realises that her face must hold a troubled expression, so she relaxes it not wanting to add to the already growing tension of their leader.

“Not exactly anything wrong,” she answers coyly. “But I just remembered: in the forest, I won’t be able to have any visions. It messes with the mind and even if I do manage to see anything, it cannot be trusted.”

“You said you are from Mirkwood,” Thorin says. “Will you be able to help lead us through?”

It has been many years since she has stepped even this close to it, and she was a young Elf even then. But there is one rule to those who do not know the forest well or are not of Elven blood – stick to the path.

“Even if I wasn’t, I would be the best to lead. Whatever Elvish blood I carry will give me some resistance to whatever poisons the air and trees.” She half turns, looking back over the company. “One of the most important things we need to remember is to stick together. We can’t split off, even to look for food.” 

“Gailien is correct,” Gandalf notes. “There will be a path that you must not leave, or you will never find it again.”

Thorin nods, taking the sincerity and solemness in both of their words of wisdom. “Thank you,” he says to Gailien, resting a hand on her arm before turning to the rest of the company. “Mount up! We’re leaving!”

Gailien retreats back to her own horse, meeting eyes with Beorn and bows her head in thanks for all that he has offered. She passes Bilbo, not missing his eyes’ piercing glare at his mount. “We’ll reach the forest in no time,” she assures him, even offering a light laugh as she pats his leg.

“If we reach the forest,” Bilbo responds mournfully, scanning the perimeter as though the Orcs or wargs will appear at any moment.

“Of course we will,” she counters. “I’ve seen it.”

Though it is a lie – which she feels guilty for, Bilbo’s face does relax, and a few lines of worry melt back into taught skin of youth. Up until this point, she has been (almost) completely honest with everything that she has seen and Thorin’s trust in her never wavered and even though she considers the lie needed for Bilbo’s sake, her own eyes now cannot stop from looking out as Bilbo’s did.

She wishes she could have seen anything, but nothing had come to her last night. And that is neither a good thing nor bad. Mounting her own steed, the company settle into their saddles, checking their packs and equipment are securely tied down.

Gandalf and Thorin give their thanks to Beorn. If she survives this quest, she knows that she will visit Beorn. Perhaps just to taste his honey-cakes once more, but he seemed to enjoy her company and she found an odd comfort in his – even if his bear form is intimidating. Maybe Bilbo would like to as well if he takes her up on her offer to escort him where he needs to return.

Making haste, they begin galloping away from Beorn’s Hall, their packs full of enough food to last at least two weeks. The trip through Mirkwood should take as long – if they stick to the path and do not run into any trouble but she doubts fate will be that kind to them.

They ride over green hills and once again, Gailien wishes that she could take the time to enjoy the beauty of Middle Earth but there is no such time to waste. Not even enough time to make conversation with any of the other members as their steeds stay galloping and cantering, only slowing down to a walk when absolutely necessary.

Though their speed pays off and by the late afternoon, they arrive on the flat plans that lie just before Mirkwood’s forest begins. The dense trees sit on the other side of the field, going as far as the eye can see in either direction.

Not one soul in the company feels at ease as they arrive at the front – not even Gandalf. Beorn had given them all a warning about the forest, about the evil lurking inside. And about the Elves. “They are less wise and more dangerous,” he had said. A few eyes had darted to her, but she only shrugged in agreement.

Gandalf has led them to the Elven road entrance where the old stone has grass peeking through the cracks. The front trees are old, leafless and dark. Once the night falls, they would resemble gangly hands reaching out through the darkness and the anticipation of the eeriness sends a shiver down her spine.

The company stay mounted while Gandalf walks forward through the entrance, gazing around it. “The Elven Gate,” he muses. “Here lies our path through Mirkwood.”

“No sign of the Orcs. We have luck on our side,” Dwalin growls, already dismounting. Gailien sucks her lips, tossing her head over her shoulder again, watching the horizon behind them. Nothing. Beorn must have helped them more than she thought.

She dismounts with the rest of the company, petting the horse’s neck. “Set the ponies loose,” Gandalf instructs. “Let them return to their master.”

Bilbo walks forward slowly, eyeing the forest with hesitancy. “This forest feels sick, as if a disease lies upon it.”

“That because it does,” Gailien muses mournfully, untying the straps on her horse. “It used to be called Greenwood, but something happened and now anything that lives in there is slowly darkened until it becomes what are you looking at now.” Bilbo grimaces, flickering his eyes between the woman and trees. “But unfortunately, it is the only path that will ensure we reach the mountain in time. Unless you would rather travel an extra two hundred miles north.”

Leaving the Hobbit to contemplate, Gailien fiddles around with her things, making sure everything that she may need is in easy reach, her blades at her side. Content, she shifts her attention to the two brothers.

“Are you boys ready?” she asks with a small sigh.

“As ready as we’ll ever be heading into an Elf infested forest,” Fili growls before dropping his face as he looks at her. “No offence.”

“Trust me, I have the same thoughts,” she drawls. “Just…make sure you stick with the company. If you even feel like you’re beginning to fall behind, yell out. You both mean a lot to mean and it will kill me if anything happens because we weren’t careful enough. I’ve already warned Thorin, but no matter how desperate we are, we cannot leave the path or separate and I need you to promise me that you won’t.”

Fili ad Kili nod with wide eyes. “We will,” Fili promises.

“Yeah, no need to worry about us,” Kili laughs, trying to ease the tension as he normally does.

Gailien manages a small smile, placing a hand on eithers’ cheek. “You two are something else.” And truly, never before has she met anybody with spirits like there’s. She had decided a while ago, but she knows that she would do anything for either of them, absolutely anything. And that is a dangerous type of love to have for somebody. Although willing, she is scared to think of the lengths she will go to.

“We’ll take that as a compliment,” Fili laughs, his own hand reaching up to lay over hers. She sometimes forgets that Fili is the heir to the throne. A future king. It isn’t that he doesn’t act like one, but his humble and nurturing nature is at the front of his character.

Gandalf announces that he is, once again, leaving the company to attend matters elsewhere. No one is truly surprised at his sudden absence, though Bilbo does express his distress. It does worry Gailien slightly, knowing that he would have been helpful through the forest but even Gandalf the Grey is not immune to whatever sickness lies within the roots.

“I’ll be waiting for you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor,” he says. “Keep the map and key safe. Do not enter the mountain without me.” He mounts his dark horse. “This is not the Greenwood of old, the very air of the forest is heavy with illusion that will seek to enter your mind and lead you astray.”

“Lead us astray?” Bilbo questions. “What does that mean?”

“You must stay on the path, do not leave it. If you do, you’ll never find it again.” With that as his last warning to the company, his rides off to wherever he intends to be.

Gailien strides to the front of the company, coming beside Thorin and Dwalin. The path is only a few feet in front of her and her jaw clenches just looking down at it. “Keep your ears and eyes open, but don’t trust them for a moment,” she warns the pair. “It will take a while for the forest to affect me, but if it does…don’t be afraid to quite literally slap sense into me.”

“I will not be laying a hand on you,” Thorin frowns.

“You might have to.”


	31. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Her Tale to Tell

It is more horrid than she remembers. As soon as the Elven gate disappeared from their sights, the forest coated them in darkness. The only way to tell that it is still day is by the small rays of light through the canopy of the tallest trees. But Gailien’s eyes are not facing the sky, they are facing the ground and her eyes are planted on the stone path that they are following. She only looks up to ensure that the entire company is still behind her.

Once or twice she has had a small panic, not being able to see Bilbo over the other Dwarves, or Bofur who fell behind but they have not made any fatal mistakes yet. Or run into any of the forest’s inhabitants.

Gailien isn’t sure if it is her Elf sense or if the forest is just stronger than she remembers, but she can physically feel the air seeping in through her orifices, the subtle touch playing at her mind. And it hasn’t even yet been a day. But she tries to keep her wits about her, knowing that as soon as she gives into whatever tricks it intends to play on her, they will become reality.

With her partially distracted mind, she shakes her head and brings herself back to the road. The road. Her feet stumble over a grassy land – not one of stone. She spins her body around, wide fearful eyes.

“-ailien!”

They have been calling her name, still standing on the path. Thorin is only one foot off it, stretching a hand out towards her. They still have the path. An audible sigh of relief passes her lips, her hand covering her mouth to pinch her nose.

“I’m sorry. The forest, it’s-“

“I know,” Thorin cuts her off, still holding his hand out to her. “Come back.”

The company is behind them, waiting with impatience. Some of them are talking nonsense, eyes floating around. It seems for every Dwarf that is lucid, there is another that is feeling the effects worse. Gailien silently steps forward, reaching out for Thorin’s hand. Her fingers slide through his and he tugs her back onto the stone path. She had taken a right instead of a left.

She follows the path the opposite way, Thorin letting go of her hand once she passes him. Guilt ripples through her veins. She was almost the cause of getting lost. If they had not been focusing… she doesn’t dare think what would happen first.

Although her slight mishap is nothing to be happy about, it does provide her with a clearer mind, the fear on the forefront of her thoughts which keeps her sharper than before. Like a rush of energy that blocks pain, her fear blocks the darkness. 

“Is everybody still with us?” she asks Dwalin. He checks over his shoulder, counting off in his head. Once he nods, Gailien focuses back onto the road. “We will need to stop soon. It is too much of a risk to try and travel through anything darker than this. Even my eyes are straining to see.”

“And my eyes aren’t what they used to be a hundred years ago,” Thorin adds in agreement. “Let us try and find a small clearing to make camp. Will it be safe to make a fire?” He looks around sceptically as though something might be lurking around them – and something very well might be.

“We’re going to want one,” she replies. “The light won’t travel far in here and anything close enough to see it…well, they won’t need a fire to see us.”

The company pushes on until they find a small clearing, just wide enough that the Dwarves can huddle around it and not be lying over trees. Thorin begins giving out orders, but there isn’t many to give besides to stay in sight and to make a campfire.

Although she has been assured numerous times, she is not content until she has personally seen each and every member of the company for herself.

“I’ll go get some firewood,” Ori, declares but Gailien quickly shakes her head, striding over the grip his shoulder.

“Let me,” she says to both Ori and Thorin. “I’ll stay in sight, but it’ll be safer if I go.”

Thorin hesitates, not wanting any of his company to wander away but if he does not let somebody go – or go himself – then there would not be enough fuel around them to last into the night. “Alright,” he agrees. “But I’m going to be watching you the entire time. Don’t go far or somewhere where I can’t see you.” 

“Maybe you should have someone go with you,” Bilbo suggests but Gailien quickly pushes the idea down.

“No, if something does go wrong than one is better than two. And better me than a Dwarf, or Hobbit.” She gives a kind but small smile to Bilbo to assure him that his idea is not being dismissed just because it comes from him.

“You are not lesser than any other person here,” Thorin returns sharply with a raspy voice.

Gailien’s small smile widens. “I just mean that I have a better chance facing anything I may run into if I do get lost. My senses are still better and if I do run into Elves but an odd chance…“ She shrugs to end her statement. “But thank you for that reassurance.”

Thorin huffs slightly through his nose. Gailien gives the rest a tight smile before turning away to the forest. Her feet leave the path and she looks over her shoulder. Thorin has not moved from his spot, watching her with an intense gaze as he said he would.

With a clenched jaw and darting eyes, Gailien begins to bend down, picking up any decent sized branch she can find lying around. The forest is quiet, which is not unusual but there is not even the sound of a soft breeze or the flutter of birdwings.

Every few steps, she checks over her shoulder to make sure that she does stay in sight of the camp. Thorin is now joined by Fili who stands behind him, watching her as well. It is a little unnerving to have them both stare at her like she is some kind of predator and they the prey, guarding their herd.

Her arms are nearly full, but she still searches for one larger log that they could use to keep it burning for a while. And she finds it, behind a large tree. ‘Don’t go far, or anywhere I can’t see you.’

Her feet pause, head pointing towards the log but her eyes flicker back over to the two Dwarves watching her. The tree is large enough that she will be out of sight for a few seconds, but the log sits there, calling to her in temptation. Maybe it is the forest trying to lure her away from the path. Is the risk really worth a piece of wood?

Her mind says no, but her feet say yes. Before the two parts of her can argue, she is stepping forward and the company is blocked by the large trunk. She snaps down, picking up the large piece and hastily jumps over the root to be back where she was before.

Thorin has moved forward by a few steps but stops as she meets his gaze. His eyes are blazing – angry. Gailien returns to the camp, holding back her sigh of relief as she strides past the two royal Dwarves. She dumps the wood in the middle of the camp next to Bofur who immediately lights the kindling wood.

“I told you not to go out of my sights,” Thorin snaps, glaring accusingly at her.

“I’m sorry,” she shrugs. “The wood was too good to pass up.”

She knows her own argument is pathetic, but there is truly no plausible excuse for her act of stupidity. Because it was that – stupid. And Thorin wholeheartedly agrees as he leans in close to her.

“Your life is not worth a piece of wood,” he hisses. Gailien supposes that she should be flattered that he cares so much but the forest – it does things to the mind.

“Don’t pretend to care,” she snaps back, glaring at the King. Thorin pulls back, his hard face slowly morphing into an unreadable one. One part of her mind – the foggy, unreachable part is screaming at her to take back what she said – to apologise and blame it on the air but that part is not in control.

“Gailien,” Fili says slowly, placing a hand on her arm, “I think you need to sit down.” Gailien doesn’t move, not hearing his words. Fili looks to his uncle who isn’t sure what to do either. She has never expressed a single thought that would even allude to the idea she doesn’t think they care. “Come, Bombur is making dinner.” He tugs on her arm and Gailien finally snaps out of whatever spell she was under.

For a moment, she believes that the past few moments are just a scenario her mind has made up but by the look on Thorin’s face, the words truly did come from her mouth. Feeling ashamed, the bead in her hair hanging heavy, she lets Fili pull her away.

Bombur makes a decent meal, the fire glowing lighter than usual. Or maybe everything is just darker than the natural night. Gailien sits next to Kili as Fili sits on his other side, sparing her the occasional look of concern. Thorin has planted himself on the opposite side, next to Dwalin and Bilbo.

“This place is cursed,” Dori spits, looking around. “My head feels like it’s being pushed underwater.”

“I swear I saw a purple rabbit earlier,” Bofur exclaims. “I nearly went after it. Lucky for me, Bifur ran into me and it disappeared.”

The others begin telling their own stories. Small things, but things that can easily lead them astray is they don’t focus. And it will only get worse from here.

“And to think I last sixty years in this place,” Gailien growls. “Of course, I wasn’t always in the forest, but I spent most of my time out here.”

“I’d rather spend sixty years down with the goblins,” Dwalin grunts, crossing his arms tightly. Gailien hums in a partial agreement. For anybody besides the Elves, that may be so but Thranduil’s kingdom, inside the gates is beautiful. She looks down at her leg and the sudden realisation comes to her.

“I just realised that I have never told you how I ended up like this,” she says loudly, smiling sadly at her leg. “It isn’t a very interesting story really, but it made me who I am today.”

“It happened here?” Kili asks. “In Mirkwood?”

“It sure did, dilthen er.” The Dwarves have stopped their other conversation, giving their attention to her. Even Thorin watches her silently, not letting his gaze drift. “My family…we were different from the beginning. It wasn’t usual for a Woodland Elf to marry a human so when my father brought my mother home, it caused quite the gossip. We were apart of Thranduil’s court, living in the palace so I grew up hearing things I probably shouldn’t have.

“My brother and I were adventurous little things. He was only older by a few years. One day, my mother and father were busy with something so my brother and I snuck out into the forest as we usually did when we could. But we got lost. It wasn’t as bad then as it is now, but it still was no longer Greenwood. We found the path again by some stroke of luck after two days of walking. But we were far the palace and we hadn’t eaten so we camped out another night. We thought that if we waited that they would find us, but they were used to us running off, so I don’t think they worried too much at first.

“We had the idea of climbing the trees to find out way back and being the better climber, I offered to do it. To summarise that, I was not the better climber,” she intones, huffing through her nose. Gailien stands, already knowing exactly where she is going. “I fell, from the highest branch, of that tree.” She points to the thickest tree, just behind Thorin and Dwalin. The company’s head’s snap towards the tall tree, their necks bending as they follow the trunk which extends beyond their sights. Her own gaze is pointed downwards as her finger drops down to the object on the ground. “And I landed on that rock.”

Their heads drop back down, following her finger. The rock is small, no taller than a few feet but it has a jagged pointed top. One that matches the scar on her back. The company are silent. The rock lies between Thorin and Dwalin and the former begins to feel sick just looking at it.

“I don’t know how I survived really. I had a few branches slow my fall down, so I suppose that helped. My entire right leg was shattered, and the rock only missed my spine by a few inches. Mirkwood’s healer did what they could but I didn’t really have any hope for anything long term. I was young, not even fully grown. My father decided to take me to Elrond, and it was a slow and…painful journey but we made it. Elrond and Rivendell’s best healers helped me enough that within the year I was walking again.

“But not without its price of course. My right leg never fully recovered and with the damage to my back – my body couldn’t take it and I stopped growing. The height you see me at now is the same height I was at that day. When I returned home, everything just got worse. I would hear them gossiping saying awful things. It was already known that I was a Seer. They would say my brother was jealous and pushed me. The spoke of how strange I was, never growing, half-Elven, a Seer.”

“That must have been awful,” Kili says quietly, breaking the Dwarves’ silence.

“It was,” she agrees with a small but mournful smile. It is the past and will forever stay in the past if she can help it. “After my brother died, I left and have never returned until today.” She looks around the company, feeling all their eyes on her. “Don’t pity me. I’ve done enough of self-wallowing through the years. I’ve learnt to live with everything.”

Sometimes she wishes she could just lie and say it is because of a battle that she was in or something other than her foot missing its mark, but there are too many holes in the story to fill so the truth is what comes from her lips. Bending down, she places another log on the fire, watching the embers spark. She stays crouching.

Not to her surprise, the Dwarves don’t have much to say to her story, besides a few glances of sympathy, a few smiles, and eyes lingering on her leg. She doesn’t want her own mind to settle on the topic though. Gailien told them because she feels comfortable enough to know that her story will change nothing about their opinions – except that she may be clumsier than they thought.

Once the Dwarves start speaking amongst themselves again, Gailien sighs, peeking at Thorin from the side of her eye. She should apologise. He deserves one. Slowly, she stands back up, taking the few short steps to Thorin’s side. The side opposite the stone – she couldn’t bring herself to get any closer.

She sits down cautiously, watching his reaction but Thorin only glances at her for a moment, watching the fire instead. “I’m sorry,” she swallows. “For earlier. I didn’t mean what I said at all.”

Thorin finally turns his head to her. “You know that I care,” he says quietly. “I would not have given you this if I do not.” He reaches out behind her neck, finding her braid amongst the tied hair.

“I do,” she nods. “That’s why I’m sorry. I know beads are special to Dwarves and it was insulting for me to even question it.” Thorin slowly rubs his thumb over the bead, looking at the rune engraved. She still has yet to know what it is.

“Nobody is in their completely right minds here,” he answers. “There is no need to apologise.” He still fiddles with the bead, which is a little odd, since she never sees the Dwarves fiddling with their own but perhaps hers is something different. Nevertheless, it is soothing to have him play with her hair. “I’m sorry,” he says, taking his hand back. “It is rude of me to not ask permission first.”

“Thorin,” she laughs, “you made it for me, of course you can touch it.”

Thorin nods but doesn’t raise his hand again.

Gailien pulls her knee up, locking her arms around it to lay her temple down on top. She closes her eyes, feeling lulled to sleep but knowing that her bed is on the other side, she doesn’t dare lie down.

If she is honest with herself, there is only one reason why she would ever return to Mirkwood besides this quest. The person who trained with her, taught her Common Tongue, the person who didn’t listen to the rumours or gossip. But if she sees him in the next coming days then that means nothing good has happened.


	32. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Violated

There is no way to know how long they’ve been in Mirkwood. The only guess can be drawn from the amount of food they have left (not much). Gailien believes it has been nearly two weeks. Two weeks of following the stony path and slowly losing their minds. More than once they’ve almost lost a Dwarf or two, barely keeping their wits about them.

The Dwarves have succumbed faster than her, but she is slowly starting to meet the same fate. She no longer leads and whatever Dwarf is in the rightest state of mind does so. They have no sleep pattern; they just walk until their stomachs ache and camp is made. Sleep became harder to come by until it is no longer sleeps and more short bursts of naps over a few hours.

Her feet drag along the ground, feeling like someone has coated them in the heaviest metal to exist. Bofur walks behind her, moaning about the lack of air. There isn’t anything she can do for him – only make sure he doesn’t stray. She wants Kili’s company, but she can’t even bring herself to search for him.

Gailien lifts her hand to scratch her face but stops short. Her hand is on backwards. Like someone has cut off her hand, turned it around and sewn in back on. She can’t take her eyes off of it. The battle on her mind trying to determine what is reality and what is not. But her hand is so clear – nothing fuzzy. They begin to shake, and she lifts her other hand which faces the same fate.

A hand not belonging to her grasps the side of her shoulder. Gailien looks away from her hands, with the eyes of a scared deer at the brunette prince. Kili watches her, silently asking if she is okay. Gailien drops her gaze back down to her hands and to utmost relief, they are back to normal. She clenches her eyes shut, tightening her fingers into fists and pulls them to her chest trying to regain control over their shaking.

Kili’s hand shifts around to her back, gesturing forward with a tilt of his head and they return to the rest of the company who is slowly walking past them.

“We need to keep an eye out for food,” she says as she and Kili begin walking near Balin and Dwalin. “We don’t have much left and it is going to be too dangerous to hunt. Anything – rabbits, birds. If it crosses our path…”

“I haven’t seen a single bird this entire time,” Dwalin notes, disgruntled.

“I haven’t seen a single animal,” Kili adds.

“They’re out there,” Gailien says, looking out to her left past the shadows of trees. “We just haven’t been paying enough attention. But we can’t afford that luxury now. I have no idea how far off we are from the other side, and I know Dwarves can survive a without food longer than most, but we have a Hobbit as well.”

“And you,” Kili says, slightly accusingly. “I’ve seen you beginning to take lesser portions.”

It wasn’t a secret in Gailien’s eyes. She has just been trying to do her part in preserving what they have left. She doesn’t need to eat as much as she usually does to sustain herself. “Elves can survive on less food. Not as hardy as Dwarves in that sense, but we are don’t require as much as humans or Hobbits.”

“You’re a half-Elf. If anybody should be eating less, it is Bombur,” he growls, sending the large Dwarf a scathing glare. Gailien gives Kili her own short glare, slapping his side with the back of her hand.

“Don’t be mean. We wouldn’t have our food without him.” Kili mumbles some incoherent response. “Or we would but I doubt it would be that edible.”

The sun is no longer visible through the trees – not that it does much anyways, and Thorin orders for camp to be made again. The trees have become even denser now in the inner parts of Mirkwood and there is no room for a comfy spread of bedroll. Trees tower over them on either side. No doubt they’ll be lying on top of each other.

Gailien lays her bedroll down, opening her water skin and holds it up to her mouth. A small trickle of water drops out. Her mouth is already dry, but she still has a few more days before dehydration will begin to settle in. A headache forms at the thought.

“Here.”

To her right, Thorin holds out his water skin to her, looking at it blandly. Gailien shakes her head, putting the lid back on her own. “I’m fine. I don’t need it.” Thorin looks no better than she feels, dark circles under his eyes. Thorin watches her as she makes no move to take the water skin he still holds out. They all started with the same, it would be unfair to have more than anybody else.

“Please,” Thorin sighs, almost as a beg. “So I’m not worrying.”

“And let me worry because I’m taking yours instead?” she counters, dropping her gaze from the skin to her pack so it doesn’t tempt her more than it already has. “I appreciate it, but I can’t.” Besides, the thirst distracts from the hunger. Thorin juts his jaw but places the bottle back on one of his waist ties.

“I’ll get us some food,” he mumbles, sauntering over the few paces to where Bombur has just finished cooking. Gailien opens her mouth to protest but he is already moving by the time any words reach her lips.

He returns shortly after, holding two measly bowls of some type of stew. “Thank you,” she says, taking to bowl from his hand. Thorin sits back down next to her, on his own bedroll. Sure enough, there is little space and the edges of the material are bunched up against each other. Fili and Kili are on her other side, lying perpendicular. She is going to have to make sure she does not move too much, lest she knocks into their heads.

“How are you handling the forest?” she asks quietly. Gailien knows that Thorin will not want to reveal how badly he is begin affected to the company, but she hopes that with them being distracted by food, he will open up to her.

Thorin purses his lips, eyes darting around for a few moments before he answers. “I…see things that aren’t there. It is hard to tell what is real and what is not.”

She nods in understanding. “I saw my hands on backwards today,” she muses with a small snort attempting to lift his mood. “Would have been interesting to try and use a sword like that if it was real.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up into a smile as he looks to her hands. “That would be a sight to see.” The small smile grows into a full one, even a small laugh passing his lips. “I thought I saw Dwalin naked at one point.”

Gailien chokes on the spoonful of stew, forcing her to put in on the ground so she can cover her mouth. She coughs away the stray food from her throat as Thorin watches her in amusement. “Is that when I heard you yell out the other day?” she questions. About two days ago, Thorin had been walking behind her and out of nowhere, screamed deeply, shocking the entire company. He seemed to click back into reality a second after and shut his mouth, pressing forward.

Thorin nods bashfully, risking a glance at the warrior Dwarf then closes his eyes in regret.

Gailien laughs softly, but truly before closing her eyes with a grimace. “Oh, that brings back unwanted memories,” she moans. “I’m so happy I haven’t seen that here. I don’t think the image would ever leave.”

“You have nobody but yourself to blame for that,” Thorin chortles, almost forgetting what is around them. “I tried to stop you.”

Gailien rolls her eyes and the large smile stays planted on her cheeks. “I know. But you were so desperate for me not to that I couldn’t resist. But I do regret every second. I hope nobody else has seen the same thing here. Oh, that makes backwards hands sound so much better.” 

“I’m shocked that it hasn’t happened more than once,” Thorin muses with a small smirk.

“I’ve been very careful,” she drawls. Out of nowhere, Kili and Fili’s heads pop out on either side of her, sitting on the edge of their bedrolls which cross with hers. “And I’m surprised even more so that no one has accidentally intruded on me. We don’t exactly have the luxury of privacy.”

“Ori almost did once,” Fili says, smirking broadly through his braided beard. “Back at the Carrock.”

“Poor lad almost busted out crying after Thorin’s scolding,” Kili adds with great amusement. Gailien’s mouth drops open. She isn’t sure whether to chew out Thorin for being so harsh, thank him, or smack the brother’s heads for bringing it up. Now she feels sorry for poor Ori.

“Thorin,” she chides “you didn’t need to be so hard on him.” She rolls her eyes, giving the younger Dwarf who sits on the other side of the camp a sympathetic glance.

“Oh, so you’d rather me not stop him at all?” Thorin questions.

“Stop changing my words. I don’t want anybody here seeing me undressed.”

“We could say the same lass,” Fili remarks.

“Now I don’t know whether to be offended or not,” Gailien says with faux exasperation, flipping her head between the two brothers as the three of them continue to bicker, not noticing Thorin’s eyes lingering over her body. “Come on boys, we should at least try to get some sleep.”

Thorin’s eyes quickly dart back up to her face, hoping the darkness of the forest will hide the colour on his face. He mumbles an agreement and lies down on his bedroll, facing away from the woman to calm his thoughts.

Gailien lies on her stomach, resting on her arms as the brothers also settle themselves. A heavy weight rests against the back of her knee, and she lifts her head with narrowed eyes. "Are you serious, Malthen emel?” Fili has taken it upon himself to use the back of her leg as a resting place for his head.

“You want me to get a night of good sleep, right?” he questions with a teasing smirk. “I’ll sleep better with head cushioning.” Gailien narrows her eyes at his tone but doesn’t truly mind – it’ll be his own fault if she moves and he smacks his head on the ground. Her gaze swaps to Kili who looks at his brother with a smile, liking his idea but then it drops when he sees where his head would have to lay.

His eyes dart up to Gailien who watches him with an intense glare. “I’ll take the ground,” he states, dropping his head onto his arms. Gailien smirks to herself, settling back into her folded arms, closing her eyes to try and find some peace in this forsaken place.

Xx

Gailien’s closed eyes twitch, sensing movement nearby. Only in light sleep, she is easily awoken but it takes a while for her mind to catch up with her body. There is still a heavy weight on her leg, her arm propped over something. As her eyes adjust, she finds Kili has moved in his sleep, laying his legs over his brother and Gailien’s forearm resting over his neck.

She turns her head around, trying to find what has caused her to waken but the rest of the camp are either sleeping or trying to. There must be somebody on watch unless they have fallen asleep. Gailien rests her head back down, facing Thorin but he is no longer in his bedroll.

Her head snaps back up, squinting as she looks around for him. He stands near a tree, looking out into the distance, not even moving his fingers. She had almost missed him – her tired eyes and mind mistaking him for part of the trees. He seems entranced, and knowing how dangerous it could be, Gailien knows that she needs to check on him – at the least.

Removing her hand from Kili, she slowly leans back, cupping the back of Fili’s head off her leg. The blond Dwarf stays sleeping as she lays it back down on the ground. Free of Dwarf limbs, Gailien pushes herself to a stand.

Thorin still has not moved.

She steps over the sleeping bodies, trying to both keep as quiet as possible but also not frighten Thorin. Gailien comes to a step behind him. “Thorin?” He doesn’t answer or acknowledge her call in any way. Not even a twitch in his neck. Swallowing her slight fear, her hand lifts into the air, laying softly on his shoulder.

This time, he does react, his head slowly turning around. His eyes are wide, hazy and still trapped in whatever lure the forest has dragged him into. His own large hand rises, covering hers.

“Thorin?” she tries again. “What are you seeing? Whatever it is, it’s not real.”

“Isn’t it?”

Gailien holds her face of shock that he responded to her. “No,” she answers. “But I am. The company are. Come back to sleep, we still have a few hours until we need to start moving.”

Once again, Thorin is trapped in a state of silence but the skin between his eye wrinkles as he tries to figure his mind out. The fingers of the hand that lies on hers slowly pull her hand away but do not let go. Instead, Gailien’s hand is pulled up to his face, to his jaw. Her arm stiffens as she touches his beard, his fingers guiding hers, running them through the hair.

Caught in the moment, her fingers begin moving of their own accord, tracing along his jawline. Thorin’s eyes never leave her face as his hand slowly drifts down to her forearm, letting her move as she pleases. And she does, eyes pointed on her hand as it moves along his face. 

Without much thought, her hand raises higher until she touches above his ear where his braid begins. She holds it between her fingers, entranced by the pattern braided hair makes. They slowly trail down, her thumb tracing over some of the strands. Reaching the bottom, her fingers stop before they touch the bead. Her eyes turn to his face, gauging his expression. He holds the same one he has this entire time.

Daringly, her hand drops even more and the cool metal slips into her grasp. It has deep engravings of runes. One that is very similar to her own but the pattern around it is different. As she examines it, a cool hand meets her face. Thorin’s free hand rests softly on her own cheek.

She watches his eyes as they trace along her features when the sudden dread falls onto her. Her hand drops the bead and she stumbles back out of his grasp. What is she doing? Thorin is till under whatever spell the forest is using to lure him and she has taken advantage of his position of weakness – doing things that he would never let her in his right mind.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is raspy and barely even makes a dent in the thick silence of the forest, but it is all she can manage. She feels sick to her stomach, marching back to her bedroll, hoping that Thorin will come back of his own accord. With her back to his bedroll, she focuses on Kili’s head which now lays parallel to her instead of perpendicular. 

Leaves crunch and behind her, someone settles back down into their bedroll.

Oh, how she wishes they weren’t in this forest.


	33. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Vision of Fears

Two days ago, they ran out of food, the last droplets of water soon following. Nobody tries to talk anymore - a waste of energy. Gailien knows that they should have been out of the forest by now – they have been following the path. But there has been no sign of the trees beginning to end.

Dehydration is beginning to settle in, a pounding headache near her temple and lips so chapped they are bleeding. She knows that she is feeling the effects of hunger and thirst more than anybody (besides Bilbo) but they are more susceptible to the effects of the forest in turn. She can’t help but wonder how long she’ll last before her legs give way. Maybe another few days without water. And she isn’t the only person to know that fact.

Her head sways with her feet, blinking slowly as the forest seems to tip from side to side in front of her eyes. Her stomach feels sick from all the movement – or perhaps from the hunger.

Thorin had not mentioned anything about that night and Gailien isn’t sure if he doesn’t remember or if he is furious with her. She hasn’t talked to him since.

But as her body tips to the side to balance against the non-existent waves, her mind is tugged away from the present and into a vision. Her feet stop trying to move but already leaning far to over, she falls to the ground, barely missing a large root with her head.

Bofur is the Dwarf walking behind her and slowly comes to a stop. “T…Thorin!” he exclaims, trying to breathe when there seems to be no air. Thorin stops, turning – also slightly swaying. Bofur points down at the girl, closing his eyes to concentrate on his words. “Ga…Gailien…she’s…” Bofur can’t even finish his statement but it is enough for Thorin and he strides back through the now waiting standing company. He blinks away the dizziness.

Gailien lies against the ground between two roots, one side of her face planted in the dirt, the other covered by the hair that has been falling from her ponytail for the last three days. Thorin kneels next to her, Kili also walks forward and kneeling next to his uncle.

Thorin brushes the hair out of the way, revealing her open, blank eyes staring straight ahead at the root.

“She’s just having a vision, right?” Kili asks Thorin.

Thorin eyes her for any other thing that may be causing this but there is nothing to suggest anything but a vision. “She’s fine. We just have to wait for her to come back.”

Gailien is trapped in her vision. She and the Dwarves are still in the forest of Mirkwood and the ground is still swaying, though much more intensely. The image isn’t still either; it flickers, shifting and changing. Gailien is crying out towards the Dwarves as they leave her behind, her foot trapped under a root.

Her fingers claw desperately at the root, trying to pull it away from her ankle but the root, as though it is alive, tightens its hold, climbing up her calf. She screams, reaching out for the Dwarves who pay her voice no heed.

Then her trousers begin to feel wet and her head snaps down. Water slowly trickles over the ground as though a new stream is forming. And it keeps coming. And coming. Until it reaches her waist as the entire forest begins to flood with a never-ending source of water.

Searching her waist for her weapons to hack at the root, there is nothing. Tugging and kicking are futile as the water softens her blows to the plant which is even older than her. The water rises, passing over her chest.

Her eyes dart around, trying to find something -anything – that she can use to free herself. The shouts of the Dwarves are now audible as the water starts rising to their necks and they begin to tilt their heads up.

Gailien wails, grasping at her leg, pulling so hard that her hip feels like it no longer belongs to her body. Her lungs gasp for her last breathes as the water rises over her chin and then finally over her mouth and nose.

The cries of the Dwarves quieten under the water.

Thorin and Kili, along with the rest of the company are waiting for Gailien to come back around. He contemplates just carrying her, but he doesn’t trust his own feet to keep himself up let alone the both of them.

“She’s going red,” Kili mutters, leaning forward. Thorin’s eyes narrow, watching her still face. Kili is right – her face is becoming a deep shade of red. This has never happened before, at least to his knowledge. And Kili is typically around her when she is in this state so if he is concerned, then something must be wrong.

His eyes dart over her, trying to find a wound. He feels her forehead any abnormal heat but if anything, she is too cold. Then he watches her chest. And there is no rise.

“She’s not breathing,” he realises quickly. His hands grip her shoulders, pulling her over to lie on her back and he shakes them, gripping tight. “Gailien!” She just stares at the canopy of the forest with those blank eyes.

“Wh-what’s happening?” Kili questions, his mouth hanging open as his hands are held out in front of him, not knowing what to do. “Gailien!” Fili and Bilbo run over, hearing the younger Dwarf’s distress. “Hey! Wake up!” He tugs at her upper arms, squeezing them hard.

Gailien watches the forest becomes fully submerged underwater, even the tallest trees being covered. She begins to run out of breath, the last bubbles escaping her mouth. She is trapped on the floor of the ocean forest.

A figure slowly sinks down in front of her, lifelessly. Their short hair floating around their head, arms and legs being controlled by the water. Gailien watches as they sink down, taking in their expressionless face. Their closed eyes and partially opened mouth that has no bubbles passing through.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream as Kili’s dead body drifts past her.

With every last piece of energy, she has she kicks at the root giving her everything to try and reach him. The Dwarf who reminds her so much of the brother that she couldn’t save, dying the same way that he did. That twinkle of mischief in his eye, the want to impress, his loyalty to family.

Dwalin grabs her blouse, pulling her off the ground and before anybody can question him, he pulls his other arm back, bringing it down on her cheek, hard enough to leave a mark. Gailien’s eyes snap open, accompanied by a large gasp for the breath her lungs so desperately cry out for. Dwalin slowly lets go of her, letting her regain her senses.

The surrounding group lets out short breathes from the built tension as Gailien continues to breathe heavily, feverishly looking around. Then her gaze steadies on the young prince on her right. Launching forward, her arms wrap around his neck, burying her head into the crook.

Kili doesn’t move out of shock for a few moments but slowly his arms encase the woman that clings to him as though her life is truly depending on it. "Thui- nin mellon,” Kili whispers into her ear, using Elvish for its soothing flow. He looks up to Thorin with a perplexed expression. Thorin, Fili, Bilbo, and Dwalin stay crouched, watching with wide eyes as Kili tries to calm the woman down.

Thorin is the first to move, sliding forward. He places a soft hand on her back, leaning closer to speak to her. “Gailien. What did you see?”

Gailien shakes her head, not lifting it from the prince’s shoulder. “It wasn’t real,” she says as loudly as she can. “What I saw wasn’t real.” The only grip she feels she now has on reality is the fact that Kili is completely dry, not even his hair is damp.

Thorin nods slowly. She already warned him that the forest could mess with her foresight. Gailien exhales slowly, knowing that they need to keep moving. She releases Kili, leaning back so her hands rest against the side of his face instead. Kili watches her silently, searching her eyes. He’s safe. Alive.

She bows her head, letting her arms drop. “Let’s keep moving,” she mumbles, exhausted. The group silently agree, standing; none daring to push her for more information. Kili helps her to her feet, still feeling mighty concerned about the last few minutes.

Her cheek stings – no doubt a flaming red ad her fingers gently brush over it. “Thanks, Dwalin,” she says to the warrior Dwarf as he overtakes her.

“I’d like to say anytime,” he huffs, “but I don’t enjoy laying my hand on a woman.”

“Trust me, this one was appreciated.”

Her eyes can’t help but watch the ground, her hand clinging to the back of Kili’s jacket to guide her as she waits for the water to start trickling in. She runs her hand through her hair and sure enough, it is still dry. Any roots she passes over, her feet climb high over. And her swords are still in place.

Not real.

Feeling cowardly, she drops her hand from Kili’s clothes, holding it tightly by her side instead. She knows that it is not real, there is nothing to fear and she shouldn’t be acting like a scared child. She is nearly half a millennium old.

Kili frowns, turning his head ever so slightly to look at her but Gailien’s head and eyes are set forward, her shoulders squared back. Everybody knows that whatever she saw has shaken her, and if is being honest, her reaction has frightened him as well. Frightened him as to what the forest can do to him and the company.

Then Gailien’s pace speeds up, leaving Kili behind as she marches up towards the front of the company, passing Dwalin and Thorin and starts leading the company herself, only speaking words of instruction.

“Is she alright?” Fili asks quietly, replacing her spot.

“I don’t know, Fil.”

Xx

Brave. Strong. Lithe. Elf.

She can’t stop her head from turning back slightly, just enough to peek at the company, but her feet keep walking, leading the company. She should never have left the lead – she knows this forest better than anybody here. She should be the brave one, the one telling the others not to worry, the one helping them reach their goal.

Not to mention she is bar far the eldest, over double the eldest of the Dwarves. Her experience should make her the wisest, but she is anything but. Her emotions are not an important part of the quest. Their survival is and she cannot let them fail because she is cowering in a corner.

Once everything is over, then she can laugh, cry, fill her heart with everything that has built up. Even if that ‘over’ is just getting to the other side of Mirkwood.

The forest continues to try and unsettle her mind – making things move, twist and at one point, a child’s cry echoes in the distance, but nothing will ever compare to the vision she saw. Her eyes and ears are open, but she doesn’t trust them for a second. As she had warned them.

They haven’t any food, and if she cannot lead them out of here, Bilbo will be the first to fall and her shortly after. Even though running into the Elves is probably the thing she would like to do least, if they are a hunting pack then it is possible they could send Bilbo or herself to steal food when they sleep. Or beg.

And then there are the spiders. Four hundred years ago, there were barely any – a few scattering the edges of the forest. But there is no mistaking that the forest has grown darker and the spiders have likely begun to thrive.

Her ears pick up the sound of something dropping into water and her head snaps sharply up. Her legs begin walking faster, into a light jog as the sound becomes closer with each step.

They won’t be able to drink the water or bath but if she is right, then it is a bearing of their location and a spark of hope that they are still moving forward.

“Gailien!” Thorin calls. “What is it?”

Gailien slows to a stop, looking down at the water with both a small smile and a wince.

“The Enchanted River.”


	34. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Enchanted Waters

The company congregate around the edge of the river. There was once a bridge, but all that now remains is the foundations on either side. Even if Gailien could manage to jump the distance, there is no way the Dwarves would be able to manage.

“Doesn’t look very enchanting to me,” Bofur says offhandedly.

The River isn’t particularly deep, in this area anyway, but it is no less dangerous.

“Can we wade through?” Balin asks. “It doesn’t look too deep.”

“No, Master Balin. It is shallow but it has not earnt the name ‘Enchanted’ from its beauty. Any who touch the water is put under a deep sleep and there is no way to know how long it will take for them to awaken.”

Only two Elves that she has known have ever fallen in and they were asleep for over a week, but the effects could be vastly different on her, Bilbo, and the Dwarves. Would their Dwarfish nature help them or hinder them?

“We must find a way to cross,” Thorin announces. “Is there another bridge?”

Gailien shakes her head, looking around. “Not unless you want to leave the path to try and find it.” There is another one a few days south but there is more of a risk in leaving their path to find it then trying to find a way across.

“Here!”

Kili grasps one of the thick vines which entangles with many more. The vines extend over the river, meeting with ones extending from the opposite side. He begins to pull himself up to climb them but Gailien widens her eyes, jumping forward.

“No!” she cries. “Not first, Kili. I’m the lightest.” She walks forward, swapping places with Kili who falters back to his uncle. “If I make it across, Bilbo will come next.” Though she is slightly larger than Bilbo, her Elvish blood and still lithe build lighten her steps and she doesn’t carry the heavy layers of clothing like the Dwarves. After Bilbo makes it, then they can start working on the rest of the Dwarves.

Though the site of water so close after her vision is sickening, there is no other choice. Be brave. Her long fingers wind around the thickest vine, the heavy eyes of the company watching her every move. At least she will not die if she falls, but it won’t lessen the burden as they would be forced to carry her.

Both her feet leave the ground, her arms holding her weight as her feet try to balance. She pulls, testing the strength of the plant. It seems strong enough to hold her. Gailien takes her first step, sliding her hands along the vine with her body.

Then there is a small drop and she stretches her foot out to meet with the next vine. Her limbs begin to stretch, her back bending backwards but she is not yet in any danger of falling. There is, however, a slight danger from the fumes of the River which is now directly under her feet.

“Nice and steady,” Thorin says in his typical smooth tone. Gailien nods, smiling over her left shoulder at their leader. Thorin stands forward in front of the company with squinted eyes. Her own return to the vine entanglement, finding her next foot and handhold.

It will require a small jump, or she could let her body lean forward and fall to it. Her eyes drift down to the water below. It looks like it hasn’t moved in a century and small clouds of smoke arising. Shrivelling her nose, she tries to ignore the small dizziness it creates.

Deciding to jump, she pushes off, arms extending out to meet her goal. Her hands clutch tightly to the new vine but one of her feet overshoot and the back of her heel slips over the rounded side.

A short breath is snatched from Thorin as Gailien’s feet are swept out from under her, but her grip on the branch above remains tight. Gailien hangs, holding her gasp as her elbows are pulled tight. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she calms her heart and lets her feet find the vine once more. She has made it half-way.

The rest almost becomes easy and soon she finds herself on the bank of the river. She breathes out in relief. As long as the vines can hold them, they can make it across. “Bilbo! It should be safe for you to come,” she calls. The vines didn’t feel weak, only slightly bending under her weight. And if it can hold Bilbo, then they can test with Ori, then the brothers. If they start with the heaviest, it may be able to hold them, but they risk weakening the vines as they cross for the rest of the company.

Bilbo nods, walking forward and he grips the same vine that Gailien did. Slowly, he creeps forward and Gailien watches the vines under his weight, looking for any sign of them breaking.

“It seems fine,” Bilbo announces and Gailien knows that it is more for his own sake than anything else. The vines swing slightly under his weight as they did hers. Then his grip slips, and he begins to fall forward but his legs wrap themselves around the vine. He hangs upside down, his head only inches above the water but he pulls himself back up without a drop of water reaching him.

Feeling eyes on her, she risks her gaze drifting from Bilbo back to the company. She scans over their faces until her eyes meet Thorin’s. As soon as they meet though, Thorin’s eye snaps back to Bilbo. She swallows, her own darting around for a moment before she focuses back on the Hobbit.

Bilbo reaches the middle where the largest gap lies. Instead of jumping as she had chosen, Bilbo leans forward, his arms extended, and they latch onto the vine where her own feet slipped. His face is pointed down to the water underneath and for a few seconds, he makes no move to pull himself up.

“Bilbo?” she calls. The Hobbit shakes his head, looking up.

“I’m fine!” He manages to bring his legs over, clutching the vine and like her, finds the second half much easier than the first and leaps off, joining Gailien on the riverbank. “Something isn’t right,” he squeaks to her. “Something isn’t right at all.”

“It’s the river, Bilbo,” she explains. “As long as they don’t touch the water, they’ll be fine.” As they both look up to the company to pass on instructions, her face drops as the entirety of the thirteen are already climbing over the vines. Bilbo begins slapping his face as Gailien walks as close to the edge as the dares.

Her stomach drops each time a Dwarf jumps, bumping into others, the vines swinging about wildly. Bombur begins to yawn, and Gailien begins to pray that his large size will mean the river will take longer to affect him but against her wishes, he seems to be the most.

Thorin is the first one to reach the other side and Gailien can’t help but hold her hand out as he makes it to the last vine. She expects him not to take it, since there is little need for her help but Thorin slides his hand into hers. He jumps down next to the pair.

Her ears twitch, hearing the sound of a twig breaking under an animal’s foot. The three look out into the forest. A beautiful white stag, which seems too ethereal to be in such a morbid place insouciantly munches on the grass. Thorin’s hand leaves hers as he pulls an arrow from the quiver he recently acquired, nocking it in.

Gailien’s mind quickly recalls the comment he made not long ago, about how his eyes are not what they used to be a hundred years ago. Her hand quickly lays over his, silently holding him from pulling the bow up. Thorin turns his head to her but she watches the stag with a hunter’s eye. Her fingers drift over his until they reach the wood of his bow and tugs it from his grip.

Gailien has never been a true archer, but her eyesight is likely the best of the company’s. Not to even mention that she was trained by one of the best archers on Middle Earth. Thorin lets her pull his weapon away and Gailien draws the arrow back, ignoring the sound of the Dwarves clambering over the river. It is a short bow, and unlike the longbows, she is used to, and it doesn’t draw all the way to her cheekbone but aiming is still the same.

The stag doesn’t expect a thing. Her focus narrows on the tip of the arrow point and its target. She takes a long draw of breath, breathing slowly through her mouth and before she takes another one, her fingers let the arrow fly.

There is a short twang as the arrow leaves the bow, piercing through the air and the sound ends as the arrow finds its mark in the shoulder of the deer. The animal doesn’t fall to the ground immediately but there is no chance that it will last long. It tries to prance away, stumbling under its wounded shoulder.

It moves away from them, out of sight and behind trees but it is not a waste of an arrow. They just need to be able to find it and retrieve it. But that will require somebody leaving the path. She lets her chest fall – they have food. Gailien breaks her stare away from the forest, handing the bow back to Thorin.

“Good shot,” he says. “But how are we going to get it?”

“We’ll worry about that in a moment.” Her attention returns to the river, some Dwarves already jumping down onto the riverbank but to her dismay, there is the loud splash unmistakably as water. “I’m honestly not even surprised,” she growls to Thorin as Bombur lays in the shallow of the river, fast asleep. Thorin grumbles, displeased that they will now have to not only waste time making a makeshift cot, but their pace will slow.

The Dwarves manage to pull Bombur out without getting themselves wet, thanks to Gailien’s idea of breaking some of the vines. She leant down from the vines over the river, hooking them around his feet before tying them off and the Dwarves pulled him in.

As half of the company begin to make the cot, Gailien, Thorin, Balin, Bilbo and the brothers begin discussing the stag that now lies out there in the forest.

“We have to find a way to retrieve it, Thorin,” Balin states. “We haven’t any food and who knows when we’ll next come across it.”

“It is too far away from the path,” Thorin argues. “I’m not sending anybody out there.”

“I think it’s a risk we need to take. I’m willing to go,” Gailien says, folding her arms. Her chance to prove to herself that she is capable is awaiting her. To prove that she isn’t a coward that clings to others for reassurance. Her chin is held high.

“No,” Thorin growls. Gailien looks to the brother’s for support but neither of them speaks, only shifting their gaze between the forest and the small group. Neither of them wants to go out there either, but they will not speak up to support Gailien leaving.

“I’ve been lost and found the path once before. I’m the safest choice,” she presses.

Thorin holds his ground, stepping closer to her. “I cannot…will not send you out there.”

“Well somebody is going to have to,” Balin sighs. Gailien tries to rack her mind for another argument. The only thing keeping her from marching out there without permission is the fact that she doesn’t want Thorin’s anger pinned on her. But it might come to that soon.

She glances once more at the brothers, first at Kili then to Fili, dropping her gaze to his pack. His pack. “Fili,” she gasps. Fili looks up at his name. “The rope, from the troll hoard – do you still have it?”

“I think so,” he says, pulling his pack off his back. He opens it, digging through his things until he reaches the very bottom. Sure enough, the Elven rope is pulled out, still neatly tied around itself. He holds it out for Gailien to take.

“This is Elven rope, Thorin. It will not break by anything found in this forest. If we tie it around somebody’s waist, the only thing that will undo it is their own will,” Gailien says. Or another person, she adds to herself. “That way, even if they are not themselves, they can be pulled back.”

“Then I will go,” Thorin decides.

“You can’t,” Gailien protest. “You are the leader of this company, and by the off-chance something does happen then we can’t risk losing you. I will go.”

Thorin opens his mouth to argue more but Balin responds before he can. “She is right, Thorin.”

Their leader sucks their teeth but turns his head away in resignation. Gailien nods to Balin in thanks. She begins to unwind the Elven rope, tying one end around her waist tightly. She hands the still looped end to Kili. “Once I find the deer, I’m going to have to tie the rope around it, I won’t be able to pull it back myself. Remember, three sharp tugs means start pulling. I’ll be holding onto the rope the entire time. If something seems wrong, tug twice and I’ll respond with the same. If I don’t then you need to pull me back.”

Kili nods, tightening his grip on the rope. Her life is hanging in his fingers.

“If something happens, don’t come after me,” she adds.

Fili opens the inside of his jacket, pulling something out. “Here.”

He holds out his favourite knife, Ardoth, in offering to her. Gailien frowns at the blade, not yet reaching for it. “Why?”

“A promise,” he says. “To return it to me. To come back.”

Gailien smiles softly, placing a hand on the Dwarf’s cheek. “I don’t need your knife to promise to return. You are all reason enough by yourselves.” Fili’s mouth tweaks in a smile but nevertheless, he opens her jacket, putting the knife in one of her smaller internal pockets. “I will,” she says. Her hand drops and she turns back around to Thorin who has also turned back to face her.

Without speaking, Thorin steps close, his hands reaching out to her waist and his fingers trace along the rope until they find the knot. Her hands raise, thinking that he is going to untie her but Thorin’s eyes never drift from her own as he pulls on the knot, tightening it as much as it will go. It pinches at her waist, but she doesn’t speak out about it. She knows that this is his way of telling her to be safe.

“Estelio nin,” she says through a warm smile. Thorin frowns at the Elvish.

“What does that mean?”

“It means ‘trust me’,” Kili answers for her, earning him a proud smile from the woman. Thorin swallows, nodding at both Gailien and his nephew. 

“Be careful,” Bilbo says.

“Always, Master Baggins.”

Gailien squeezes Kili’s shoulder as she walks past him, and the Dwarf slowly lets the rope unwind through his fingers. Gailien’s feet leave the path.


	35. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: The White Stag

The silver rope stays taut as Gailien slowly hunts down the deer. As soon as her feet left the path, the forest knew it had her in its clutches and began to play every single trick of the mind that it can. She looks over her shoulder, the small company barely visible. Behind the small group, the rest of the company has almost finished making the cot.

Facing back to the company, she tries to retrace the steps she had seen the white stag take. It had darted forward but then turned around. While not much of a tracker, the skill is not absent and she bends down, examining the ground for the heavy marks of the animal.

Sure enough, there are three heavy imprints of hooves and one slightly unpatterned one. The tracks are easy to follow, and her pace quickens as she moves alongside them. The company are now well out of sight and even her ears cannot pick up any sound of their voices. Her concern now is how long the rope is.

She can hear a child’s laughter once more and though her neck itches to turn, she keeps it set straight, only allowing her eyes to watch the tracks and the path ahead. But then a cold hand grasps her arm.

A sharp gasp escapes her throat as her body turns around, ready to face whoever has followed her. But there is nobody – not even a whisper of anything living. The hand of her other arm lifts, resting on the spot where she felt the hand but there is nothing but the leather of her jacket. It was so cold that she had felt it through both her layers. Still not convinced that there is nobody there, she walks backwards, scanning the eerily quiet trees.

The back of her heel catches on a large root and her arms flail out but there is nothing to grasp. She falls backwards, landing on her back. Her breathing is heavy but steady, determined to keep her calm mind. The rope around her waist tugs sharply at her. Once. Twice.

She reaches out, tugging as sharply as she can twice back. She is alright. Pushing herself back to her feet, she looks back to the ground, looking for the tracks. They are still there, drifting off to the right. The imprints have become uneven, swaying from side to side and she knows that it cannot be far off now – it looks like it is barely walking.

Sure enough, only after another minute of walking, the stag presents itself to her, lying dead in against the trunk of a tree. The white fur on its shoulder is coated in bright red, the arrow still poking from its flesh. It is such a beautiful creature that a small pool of guilt settles in her stomach, but this beautiful creature will be even better in their stomachs. Her own growls in anticipation.

Gailien crouches down to it, pulling the arrow out. The fur is as soft as it looks, and she cannot help but run her fingers through it. A small, Elvish prayer of thanks slips over her lips. Her hands drift to her waist, thanking the makers that the rope is long enough. It takes a bit of fiddling from Thorin’s tightening but it undoes itself soon.

She keeps it taut by being held under her knee as she starts pulling on the stag’s legs, moving all four until its hooves are together underneath. Then Gailien starts tying the rope around its legs.

Double checking that it is secure, Gailien stands back up, tugging on the rope and sure enough, the stag moves with the rope. She is glad that the Dwarves will be able to pull it back as the creature is much larger than her. Content, she turns back in the direction of the company, holding the rope tightly in her left hand and gives it three sharp tugs. A moment after the third, Kili and whoever is helping, begins to pull on the rope and the stag is dragged along the ground.

Gailien stands in front of it, pulling it over roots or around trees where she can. She has done it – the company will have food. They may just make out of this forsaken forest alive. As long as they keep pulling, nothing can stop that stag from reaching them. Except for perhaps spiders – but they have not been seen since they entered.

She has not yet told them about the spiders, not wanting to add to the fear but her eyes have been peeled for any sign of the webs.

A bush rustles behind her and not being able to resist, her head falls over her shoulder – though her hand is still tightly clenched around the rope. There is a small hedge-like plant, its leaves moving. Maybe it was a bird or even a rabbit. Whatever it is, it is not worth leaving the stag.

A small content smile places itself on her lips and her head falls back in front of her but it drops just as quick as it came. Her hand is still out, as though it never left the rope but there is nothing but air. She opens her palm, spinning around on her heels, searching for the stag and rope but it is nowhere to be seen.

Spinning was a deadly choice. Her bearing is lost and now she has no way to know which way is the one she needs to face.

“Kili?!”

Xx

Thorin, Kili, and Fili tug on the rope. As Gailien had promised, the rope has not broken, even if it is thinner than their smallest fingers. Kili had a little scare when the rope suddenly jostled in his grip, quickly tugging on it twice as instructed but Gailien responded within seconds.

Now the deer has been tied off and they are pulling it back. Even through the thirst and tire, the thought of food makes them work hard. The rope pools behind them. Thorin Bilbo glances down at it.

“It shouldn’t be far off,” he notes aloud. Thorin looks over his shoulder at the pile for himself. Then the rope becomes snagged on something. They tug again as the deer seems to be caught on something.

“You’d think she could at least pull it over whatever it’s caught on,” Fili huffs as the rope makes an indent in his palm from how tight he is holding it.

“You ungrateful prat,” Kili retorts. Fili laughs through his heavy breathes as his words are purely teasing. They tug harder and the deer frees itself from whatever it snared on. They stumble as it becomes suddenly easier and the rope begins sliding easily under their grip. “There it is!”

The body of the deer emerges in the short distance and they begin to cheer, the rest of the company behind them also watching in anticipation. But their smiles drop slowly as the deer comes to them, not accompanied by the person or ventured out after it.

Kili drops the rope, panic rising in his chest. “Gailien? Gailien?!” Thorin and Fili also drop the rope, marching forward, just over the edge of the path. His eyes dart through the trees, searching for the dark head of hair.

“Where…where is she?” Bilbo questions, his mouth hanging open. The deer lies in front of them, neatly tied off at the feet.

Thorin sets his jaw tight and begins to march forward into the forest. “What are you doing, Thorin?” Dwalin exclaims. Thorin only pauses to answer him, barely turning.

“I’m going after her,” he says, making sure is voice is loud enough to be heard by all members. Dwalin growls, striding forward and he grips Thorin’s coat.

“You can’t.”

Thorin glares at his warrior friend. “I will not leave her out there. I will not abandon any member of this company!”

“Gailien is stronger than she looks,” Dwalin counters, his voice steadier than their leaders. “If you go out there, we will lose you too.” Dwalin breathes through his nose, leaning in close. “Look, I know exactly what she means to ya’. We’ve all seen that bead but if you go out there, you’re putting this entire quest at more risk than it already is.”

“If you’ve seen it, then you know why I have to go after her,” Thorin growls quietly. The muscles in his jaw protrude from his skin.

“She chose to be the person to leave for a reason. If anybody has chance of finding us again it is her. This place was once her home, she used to play in these trees as a child. You did not. If you leave, then you’ll never see the company again.”

Thorin tears his glare away from Dwalin, instead, scanning over the company. Most hold expressions of apprehension, muttering between themselves. Bilbo’s mouth still hangs open, watching the forest.

Kili’s jaw is clenched shut as he breaths heavily, his eyes hastily flickering between his uncle and the trees. Fili’s arm is around his brother’s shoulder, awaiting Thorin’s decision.

“Make camp here for the night,” he orders. Dwalin nods, stepping back and the Dwarves begin to shuffle about as they usually do. They take the stag; both excited at the prospect of food, but off-put by one of their member’s disappearance. 

“She’s still out there,” Kili exclaims. Thorin closes his eyes, nodding slowly.

“I know, Kili. But she will have to come to us.”

Kili frowns, looking to his older brother. Fili gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Dwalin is right. Besides, she still has my knife and she made a promise to bring it back to me.”

Xx

Fili’s knife is held tight in her hand, the only thing that is keeping her grounded. Dehydration is already taking its toll on her body. The forest never seems to change, no matter how many steps in any direction that she takes. If she hadn’t turned her head… If she just hadn’t spun around…If she just hadn’t shot that stag. No – then the Dwarves would still be starving, assuming that they were able to retrieve it. There is no reason they shouldn’t have.

They had been travelling east and to retrieve the stag she had moved south. The sun is low, but a few speckles of its golden light shine through. With the sun on her right shoulder, she hopes that her feet are taking her north.

But there is nothing familiar.

She debates calling out their names but knows that she risks calling to other things in the forest that she has no wish to awaken.

Her feet keep her moving, hours well into the night. She keeps her eyes wide open, hoping to see a glimmer of light from a campfire. Dwarfish or not. But soon her eyes start fluttering close as her legs still walk and more than once, she is awoken by her head falling to her chest and her knees digging into the dirt. She places Fili’s blade in the side of her boot, fearing that she will land on it if she continues to hold it.

At one point, her body finally gives up and her chest thuds against the ground.

The next morning her neck cracks painfully, being pushed to the side the entire night and her throat is so dry that it hurts to cough. But there is no salvation in staying still. With nothing but her own willpower fuelling her, Gailien forces her feet to keep moving. One step after the other.

Now she doesn’t care if she calls the attention of the other living things of the forest and Thorin’s name tries to pass her lips multiple times. But each time, it cracks before it forms anything intelligible.

The magic in the forest doesn’t lighten either and she no longer knows if she is travelling north, or maybe she needs to travel east again and hope the path winds in front of her own. 

Another night and day pass, and finally, she gives up. There is no hope left in her body that she will ever see the company again. She cannot even bring herself to shed a tear.

Gailien stands still, about the let herself fall to the ground in resignation but a chilling, animalistic shriek pierces the air to her right. Out of nowhere, the body of a spider falls to the ground in front of her, an arrow sticking out of its neck. An Elven arrow.

Before she can even draw her own weapons, the same type of arrow is pointed at her face.


	36. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Hair of Elves

Before she can even draw her own weapons, the same type of arrow is pointed at her face.

“Who are you?” The Elf behind the bow demands. His light brown hair neatly braided back then loosely hanging down his back Gailien’s eyes are as wide as a deer spotting its predator. Should she act helpless and beg for help? Should she reveal her Elven heritage? There are so many variables that she doesn’t even begin to sort through them.

“My name is Gailien,” she answers in Sindarin in a scratchy voice. The Elf’s eyes narrow, his bow dropping slightly and his companion saunters forward, armed with a sword rather than a bow. “I was travelling with my family when I got lost.”

“You speak our tongue?” the companion – a darker haired man questions.

“I am an Elf,” she answers, figuring that her nature will do more good than harm. She notes their sceptical eyes and begins to raise her hands. The Elf with the bow tenses, raising it once again. Gailien opens her empty palms to them, showing herself as unarmed. Slowly, she brings them to her hair, brushing it back over her ears. “Mirkwood was once my home.”

“You said you were travelling with your family,” the darker haired one says. “That wouldn’t happen to be the pack of Dwarves that we found, would it?” His tone is almost taunting. Gailien’s mouth drops open slightly. So, they have been caught? Would it be better for her to join them in captivity or create a lie that will possibly let her accompany the Elves back to Mirkwood as a guest rather than a prisoner. Apparently, her silence is the answer they are looking for.

The dark-haired one sheathes his sword and saunters forward. He takes her twin blades from their holster and begins patting her down. He does a rough job, barely running his hand over her – she must not look like much of a threat. Fili’s knife stays safely hidden in the inside of her boot. The lighter haired one puts the arrow back in his quiver.

“We should return before more spiders come out.”

“And get in trouble for not clearing them?”

“Are you going to babysit the girl while fighting off those horrid things?”

The darker haired one rolls his eyes, pulling his sword back out. His spare hand rises to the back of her neck, his fingers wrapping around it and he pushes her forward. The Dwarves – she’s going to see them again.

The pair is silent as they guide her through the forest. How they have any idea where they are going, she does not know. Gailien never knew the forest that well.

“You said you are from Mirkwood,” the lighter haired one starts, “how on Middle Earth did you end up with a bunch those hideous, greedy creatures?”

They are not ugly – she wants to hiss back at him. Nor are they greedy (for the most part.) “I told you, they are my family. Blood or not.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I am not the person you should be asking then.”

The Elf is silent for a few more moments but it seems he is not as fond of the silence as his companion is. “We saved them from the spiders if you’re wondering. They’re all alive.”

“Should I be thanking you for taking them prisoner?” she hisses, no longer bothering with formality or niceties. “I may offer you a small thanks when you watch me leave with them.”

“You think the King will just let you go?” he asks with a small taunting smirk.

“No. But we will leave either way.”

Again, there are another few moments of silence but the light-haired Elf laughs suddenly. “I like you. You’ve got spirit and a sharp tongue.”

Both Elves seem satisfied with the ending of the conversation as Gailien has no response to his remark. They don’t travel much further before the sound of Dwarfish outrage reaches her ears. It becomes louder as they lead her into a clearing. They were so close to her all this time.

There are twenty or so Elves, their bows taut, all aiming at the same thing. The company. Her eyes close in relief as their own turn to her as the three Elves approach the leader of the hunting party. Thorin’s mouth opens as Gailien is brought in front of him. Kili begins to call out her name, but Fili elbows his side, giving his brother a pointed look. They do not know what the Elves know about her yet.

Gailien passes the company, sending them the smallest of smiles but her stomach drops as she comes face to face with the leader. Legolas’ squinted expression loosens. Before her two captors can address the Prince, Legolas speaks first.

“Gailien,” he mumbles.

Although it should not be a surprise to some, a few of the members begin murmuring amongst themselves. Thorin’s eyes darken at the blonde Elf. Gailien manages a small bland smile. “Legolas. It has been quite some time.” Her captor’s grip loosens slightly, obviously not foretelling that this was a possible interaction.

“I thought you dead,” Legolas states.

“No. Just wandering Middle Earth.” She tilts her head as though in a casual conversation about the weather. “I see you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my friends.”

“The Dwarves? Why do you travel with them?”

“Why do you think?”

Legolas is conflicted, a fact obvious to anybody who watches his expression closely enough. She had disappeared one day without a trace and then they found her brother’s dead body they believed she had succumbed to the same fate. Gailien doesn’t want to speak the way she does to him right now. No, she would much rather embrace him and ask for forgiveness for leaving him without a single word of goodbye. But she is no longer a friend of Mirkwood, and in turn, its prince.

The company almost shifts their heads between the two Elves as they speak in the foreign tongue to each other, having no idea of what is being said (except Kili who picks up on a few phrases).

“You have not changed,” he says eventually. “But at the same time, you have.”

“I have four hundred years of life to thank for that. Though I must thank you for teaching me how to use a weapon. I fear that I would not have made it this far without you.”

“You still do not carry a bow.” There is a twinkle of mirth in his eye as the frown on his face slowly ebbs away.

She shrugs lazily, hiding her tire. “Too cumbersome.”

“You find a bow cumbersome, but not the company of Dwarves?” he asks, switching back to Common Tongue, intending for the Dwarves to hear his insult. “You could return home. But not if you place yourself amongst them.”

“I’d prefer them over the Elves any day of my life. And I would gladly give it for them, so do not test my loyalty.” She scans the clearing, giving each Elf in her sight a dark glare.

The Dwarves barely hold their proud smirks. Even Fili cocks an eyebrow at the Elf closest to him. Thorin holds a small smirk, keeping his gaze on Legolas whose once mirthful stature drops back to its original snarl.

Legolas strides forward with a burning glare, but his eyes catch the glint of metal in her hair and his expression morphs. He reaches out towards it, but Gailien pulls her head away. He glares at her once more, his hand moving fast than her head and he grasps the back of her head where the hair is tied.

Gailien hisses as he yanks her head to the side. Thorin snarls, stepping forward, but the sword belonging to the dark-haired elf that escorted her lays across his chest. Legolas finds the metal bead amongst her dark hair, holding it up for his own eyes to see.

“You wear his mark?” he asks, the glare dropping into an expression of puzzlement. Gailien isn’t sure who ‘he’ is but a good guess would be that the rune is a symbol of somebody important in Dwarf culture since Legolas knows of it. The Elf drops the bead and her hair, letting her stand straight again.

Gailien shrugs the dark-haired Elf’s hands off her neck who let’s go, and she marches towards the Dwarves until they surround her. Dwalin lays a heavy hand on her shoulder, squeezing it once – a welcome back. For the first time in many days, she feels comfort. Belonging.

Legolas shouts an order to his part of Elves and the Dwarven company begins to be shuffled onwards.

“I knew you would make it back to us,” Fili says as he and his brother make their way to her side. “What happened out there?”

“The forest. One moment I was holding the rope, the next – everything was gone.” She wants to tell him that she still has his blade safely tucked away but the lurking Elves will hear every whisper that passes their tongues. “I kept your promise,” she says instead, staring at Fili, hoping that he will pick up on her hint. Fili smiles, a little confused but then it morphs into a larger one that he tries to hide. 

“We got hunted down by the spiders,” Kili says.

“I can tell,” she muses, noting the covering of webs in different places. Kili has some in the back of his hair but she doesn’t bother trying to remove it. “Is everybody safe?”

“I think so,” Fili says, looking around the moving company. “Actually…I can’t see Bilbo.” Gailien tries to hide her panic but she subtle looks around. There is no sign of the reddish-brown hair anywhere. Once again, he has managed to evade their captors. She only hopes that he can once again find them.

Her throat is still dry, not having touched the salvation of water in many days and what starts out as a small cough turns into her chest hacking. Gailien bends over, resting her palms on her knees as her throat tries to get rid of the painful itch. A hand starts rubbing her back, patting it softly as Kili’s head bends over to see hers.

“She needs water!” Thorin exclaims. “Please.”

Gailien could swear that she almost fainted. Not because her lungs are trying to escape out her throat, but Thorin is pleading to the Elves. She doesn’t hear a response but there likely isn’t one.

Thorin catches the waterskin thrown to him by the blonde dwarf. He unscrews the lid, marching over to Gailien’s hunched form. He bends over, holding the open skin under her for her to see. Gailien’s eyes are screwed shut but a new presence over her other side makes her open them. The waterskin almost seems like a mirage through her hazy, water covered eyes. She leans back up straight, trying to hold in her cough as it is brought to her lips. Her hand covers Thorin’s as she tries to take it from him, but the Dwarf doesn’t let go.

The cool water feels like it has been sent from the spirits themselves. She coughs again as the water is in her mouth and she begins to choke on the liquid. Thorin pulls the waterskin away, rubbing her upper back instead. Gailien calms herself, wiping her eyes away so she can see properly.

“Thanks,” she croaks to Thorin. “I needed that.” Even now, words move smoother through her throat, the burning itch dying out. Thorin only silently hands her the water skin, letting her control her own pace now that she is not struggling to breathe.

“It was stupid what you did,” he chides, referring to her venture off the path.

“Yes, but you got food, didn’t you?” she counters back, but also actually asking since she wasn’t there to see the deer being brought back. “And I’m back. Just as I said I would be. I was so close to the path that even if I hadn’t been found I would have crossed back to you.”

“We lost the path,” Thorin admits. “But yes, we did get to eat, so thank you.”

Xx

Legolas doesn’t utter another word to her – not that she can blame him. They met on rather strenuous terms. The Elf party leads them through the forest of Mirkwood, leaving the stony path they have been taking, but guiding them along another. The path becomes very familiar, one that she would not have led the Dwarves down, but that choice has been stripped away.

The Mirkwood kingdom is both very alike, and very unlike the forest at the same time. Their paths are made of wood when not stone, large branches grown into bridges and arches. But there is only a hint of the sickness of the forest, seeping through the gaps in their doors.

The Elves shove forward any Dwarf who so much as falls a step behind, or just for the sake of it. Though she does try to hide it, Gailien cannot help but sneak glances at the blond prince. They were once friends – one of the only ones she had. It had never been her intention to just leave him behind without a word, but she never had made plans to leave it the first place. Then, once she had, there was no courage in the world that could have found her until this quest to bring herself back.

The guards open the front gates and for the first time in four hundred years, Gailien steps into the palace of Mirkwood. Though it is dark in lighting, it does not hold the same darkness as the evil outside and the warm golden glow emits through the chasm. Tauriel, an Elf that she only knows by name leads them. Gailien tries not to display her jealously of the Elf’s long red hair. It is not a common colour and its length is beautiful compared to her measly short dark hair.

They are led down to the prison cells. Unescapable. By brute force anyways. But even if they do manage to sneak out, the paths are thin and direct and now unarmed, smuggling thirteen Dwarves out of the palace is an impossible feat.

Thorin is taken away from them, led on another path that will likely take him the Thranduil. Gailien can honestly say she has no idea on what the Elven King might say or do, but Thorin’s response is already blatantly obvious. He would never work with the King who turned his back on the Dwarves.

They reach the cells and before she is thrown in, her jacket is stripped from her. The Dwarves are also stripped of their outer layers, leaving them only in their tunics and trousers. Fili gives his guard an exasperated expression, but it drops as the Elf reaches into one of his hidden pockets, pulling out his last hidden knife.

Gailien is shoved into her cell, opposite the brothers and on a high ledge. “This is not the end of it! Do you hear me?!” Dwalin exclaims, banging his fist against the metal.

“Let us out of here!” Bifur cries out in fury.

Legolas walks past her cell, not even turning his head towards her but her hand reaches through the bars, grasping the sleeve of his tunic. Legolas head snaps to her, already giving her a dark snarl.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. And truly, she means it. “I ran because I was scared. But there isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not grateful for everything you have ever done for me.”

Legolas’ eyes flicker about, watching to listening ears. He turns slightly to her, shortening their distance. “Why did you leave then?”

“I was with my brother,” she sighs. “When he died. And…and I didn’t want to be here without him. And I mean what I said in the forest as well – that I wouldn’t have survived if you hadn’t taught me.”

“Will you tell me why you have chosen to travel with the Dwarves then?” he questions, the edge of his voice growling.

“Because they are good people,” she answers as though the answer is as obvious as naming the grass green. “I’ll admit, they were a hard bunch at first, but you’ll find that being around them for so long teaches you more about them than stories ever will.”

“I do not need stories to know that Dwarves are greedy and stubborn.”

“And that they can be. Just as Elves can be cruel and merciless. Cold and calculating. While you lead with your head, they lead with their hearts.” Gailien’s hands raise to the bars, pressing her thin face between them. “And most importantly. They fight with an honour that our kin will never know.” Our kin. She has not called them that in so long and she isn’t sure why she does so now. “The day you make a friend with a Dwarf is the day that I know you will have seen past what your father tells you.”

Legolas sets his face back into a stony glare. He steps back from her cell, turning his head straight and marches onwards. Gailien sighs as the Dwarves begin trying to force their doors open. Fili starts kicking his, Kili shaking – trying to pull off this hinge and others just ram their entire bodies into it.

“It is no use, do not hurt yourselves,” Gailien calls out tiredly. “These cells are made to hold creatures much stronger than Dwarves.” They will not escape by force, but by being cunning. And that is not exactly a trait associated with the Dwarves. The Hobbit, however…


	37. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Pieces of her Heart

Thorin is not with Thranduil for long. He returns, huffing, throwing his shoulders against the Elves’ grips. Gailien watches with a sullen face as he is thrown in a cell on the opposite side, on the next level up. His hair is dishevelled, evidence of the spiders’ home still tangled, and his outer cloaks have been stripped away as well. Orcrist. They have taken his gifted sword.

“Did he offer you a deal?” Balin asks.

“He did,” Thorin answers. A low raspy growl, a sure sign of his frustration. “I told him he could go ishkh khakfe andu null. Him and all his kin!” The latter part of his words raises in volume and the Khazadul rings out through the caverns.

Her nose and eyes sting. She frowns, pushing away from the cell bars. She does not usually count herself among her race and Thorin knows this but only an hour or so ago she had called them her kin. A mistake, but one her instincts made. She doesn’t even know what his words mean but the poison they are spat with doesn’t it make it a hard guess at the insult they carry.

Because she is an Elf, whether she looks like one or not it is where she grew up. It is the culture she learnt and the realm her family belonged to. The very blood in her veins is the same as those that threw her in these cells.

Thorin looks over to Gailien’s cell but she is no longer visible at the door. Gailien shrinks against the wall, folding her knees under her arms in the corner where the light doesn’t reach. Her hand reaches up behind her head, running through her hair until the cool metal touches her skin.

She undoes the bead, letting the braid unfold itself and she holds it up for her eyes to examine once again. It was made for her – by Dwarf royalty no less. But it does not change the shape of her ears or her nature. Cold and cruel. She belongs to the race she condemns with her own tongue.

Where she felt the comfort of being with the company less than a day ago, she now feels the dreaded loneliness again. The one that she hasn’t truly felt since the first hundred years of living in the wild. A part of her cannot help but think that she is on the wrong side of the bars, that she should be a part of Mirkwood’s military as was her dream as a child.

But then she would not know the Dwarves. She would not know Kili’s humour or Fili’s kindness. She would not know Bofur’s craftsmanship or Bombur’s cooking. She would not know Dwalin’s tough, but true nature and she certainly wouldn’t know Bilbo Baggins and his habit of finding his way through sticky situations. She would not get to experience what she feels for Thorin.

But she is also faced with the inevitable truth that once this quest has been completed, she will no longer be able to stand by his side. He will have a kingdom to run and she will have the wild to return to. Or Bilbo. She would love to live in the Shire with him.

But for now, for now, she belongs with the band of misfit Dwarves. Holding the bead between her lips, she searches for the loose braid and begins tightening it, redoing the pattern once more and then threads the bead back into place.

But there are more important things than her own mind. Or rather, her mind is the important thing. Shaking her head, she straightens her back against the wall, crossing her legs underneath her and softly places her palms on each knee. Now that they are out of the forest, she should be able to once again use her gift as a Seer. Her breathing slows as her sense of reality is lost. She is pulled into a deep state, not even her pupils moving under her lids.

Around the prison, the Dwarves spend the night muttering to each other, throwing curses to the passing Elves and making talk about escape but there is no viable way to do so and they know this. Though Thorin’s trust lies in the Hobbit – a creature he has come to learn to respect. 

Kili even takes it upon himself to practice his Elvish. “Mibo orch!” he cries to a passing Elf. The Elf man looks a little surprised but holds his ground and passes without a retort. Kili grins nonetheless and peers up to Gailien’s cell. “Gailien! I got to use it!” There is no response from her cell as she is seeing a vision of the river rapids that she loathes. “Gailien?”

“She is meditating, lad,” Balin answers, the only Dwarf with a direct view into the cell. “She has been for the last day.”

“The last day?” Thorin questions, leaning against the bar to peer down at Gailien’s cell. “Is she having visions?”

Balin leans closer, trying to see if there is anything to tell. “Don’t know. I would assume that she has been now that she’s out of the forest. Not to worry, she will tell us when she can.”

After another hour, Gailien is forced out of her visions. They were messy – hard to read and seemed to jump through time but there is one thing for sure that she has seen. She rises to her feet, sprinting to the cell door and she pushes herself against it.

“Legolas?!”

Her cry echoes through the cavern, waking a few Dwarves who don’t have anything to do but sleep the day away. Thorin runs forward at the sound of her voice, panic rising as she calls desperately to the Blond prince.

“Oi!” Bofur calls out. “What is it, lass?”

“Is something happening?” Fili questions, also running forward. But outside their cells, there is nothing different except for the woman of their company waiting for a passing Elf. Gailien ignores the Dwarves’ questions, focusing on the red-headed Elf that marches to her with a long stride.

“What do you want?” she spits.

“I need to speak with Legolas. I’ve seen something that he needs to know of,” she pleas. Tauriel narrows her eyes.

“What do you mean you have seen something? Something here in the cells?”

“No.” Gailien closes her eyes briefly, calming herself back down. “My name is Gailien, I’m a Seer. Please, at least tell Legolas that I asked for him.”

Tauriel is silent for a moment, scrutinising the woman as she contemplates her options. She had seen the two’s interaction earlier and does not have any doubt whether the two know each other. Her name offers a faint memory, spoken to her in passing by has never met the person it belonged to herself. Finally, she nods once and then continues walking along.

Gailien sighs, leaning away from the door until her back rests against the wall. While she does not care particularly for the outcome of her vision on Mirkwood, if they are prepared and take down the threat before it comes, then they will have fewer enemies to face once they do escape.

Though, the Orcs do provide a distraction to the Elves. Maybe that is what allows them to – maybe she should not be fiddling with the future at all. But she clearly saw the arrow in Kili’s leg and if she can stop that from happening then she must try.

“Gailien? Is everything alright?”

Thorin. Gailien smiles softly at his voice which is smooth again, the way she loves to hear. She lets the small smile drop as she turns back around to the cell doors. “It’s fine, Thorin. I know Legolas well and I just…saw something that had to do with him.” She curses herself for lying once more but if she can change things, then there will be no need for them to know. It is her burden to bear.

“You know that pathetic excuse of an Elf well?” Fili scoffs. “No wonder you left.”

Gailien snorts, falling down to her backside as she presses up against the cell door. “Actually, he is the only reason I would have ever stayed in this place. As much as a shock it may seem, he can be pleasant company when you do not insult him. My father wished for me to marry him. Our family was slowly losing any respect it once held and for their daughter to marry a Prince…well it was too good an opportunity.”

“But you didn’t?” Thorin asks, his eyes planted on the floor, only drifting up after his question to see her response.

Gailien shakes her head. “No, I was much too young to even be in that mindset at the time.”

“And what about now?”

Gailien tilts her head up, letting it rest against the small stone slather next to the hinges of the door. Thorin holds a stony expression, watching the woman carefully. She doesn’t answer for a minute, wanting to be both careful with her words yet glaringly obvious, hoping that he would pick the meaning which would mean the least humiliation to her if she is alone in her feelings.

“I no longer have my heart to give him. It belongs to another.”

Instant regret floods her stomach. She blinks, shifting her gaze back down to the bland floor of her cell. What if that was too obvious and he does not share the same feelings? Or he does but she is insinuating that it is not him.

“Did you meet this lad through your travels?” Bofur asks from the cell next to hers. The toymaker Dwarf is as bored as anything. Gailien contemplates answering but she wants to talk about him – it is only natural.

“I did.”

“Well, what’s he like then? Give us the details!” Bofur demands.

Gailien laughs softly, a bashful smile pulling at her lips. “He is…quite the character. I’m sure you’d all like him. Maybe a little rough around the edges but he has a large heart.” She looks down into the prison, catching Fili’s eye. He only cocks a brow, smirking slightly through his braided beard. She pulls her gaze away, letting it drift softly over the company that she can see as she continues to talk. “And an even larger attitude.” Her eyes drift over to Thorin, but she doesn’t dare let them linger – not even long enough to read his face.

“And after this quest, are you going to go back to him?” Bofur asks after a pregnant silence.

“No,” she answers simply. “He is not in a place that I can stay. I was thinking that I might ask Bilbo to let me stay with him for a while. In the Shire I mean.”

“If he’s not dead in that accursed forest,” Dwalin growls. Gailien doesn’t comment on that, keeping the idea that Bilbo has made it somewhere safe. Perhaps he is looking for a way to reach them this very moment.

Thorin has her heart. Almost the entirety of it and she isn’t quite sure when or how that happened. Gailien believes that is happened moment by moment. He took the first piece when he walked through the green round door belonging to their burglar – the piece that clings to his voice. Then the night where Balin told Thorin’s story – the piece that clings to his strength. The little moments and the big, slowly chipping away at her until the Dwarf now unknowingly holds the tiny pieces in his hand where he can either mend them together or shatter them even more.

Slowly her eyes lift to Thorin, but he is not looking at her. He is not even visible; retreated into the shadows of his confinements. He has no interest in listening to her words which is dismaying but not unexpected. 

“Tell me about your wife, Gloin!” she calls out, but her eyes don’t wander from Thorin’s cell. Gloin begins rambling on about his family, his wife and son whom he speaks very highly of. Gailien doesn’t focus much on his words, too many things running through her mind. If Bilbo does not arrive soon, she may have to think of a way out herself. Perhaps she can make a deal on Thorin’s behalf – a thought she loathes and knows that he will forever hold against her but if it could ensure their safe passage… 

As Gloin finally begins the run out of things to say, Legolas, accompanied by two guards march up to her cell.

“Legolas,” she breathes. “I need to speak with you.”

“It is not me you’ll be speaking to,” he answers, giving her a short look of warning. “My father requests your presence.”

“Thranduil?”

She lets go of the bars, taking a few long strides back into the shadows. What would Thranduil even want to speak to her about?

“Where are you taking her?” Thorin returns into the light, his face pressing against the bars as Legolas enters her cell. Nobody answers him as the blond Elf guides her out, leaving a firm hand on her shoulder – a warning not to do anything stupid. “You will tell me where you are taking her!”

“I do not need to tell you anything, Dwarf,” Legolas hisses. “You were given your chance to speak.”

And then Gailien is escorted out of the prison area, sharing a worried glance with Kili as she passes him.


	38. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Days of Boredom

Legolas’s hand does not leave her shoulder, nor do the guards leave until she is brought into what can only be called the Throne Room. Though it is less of a room and more of a platform in the centre of Mirkwood. Legolas and the guards leave her side, striding over to the side, standing at attention.

Slowly her head lifts, her warm brown eyes meeting Thranduil’s cold stones. He lies against his throne, the thorned crown neatly resting on his head. He taps his fingers against the throne lazily – a display of dominance, that he is in control.

“I heard you would like to speak with me,” Gailien says, her own assertion of confidence. It is a rude gesture to speak first to royalty, nevertheless in their own kingdom. Thranduil’s stony eyes narrow but a small tweak of mirth plays on the corner of his lips.

“Little Gailien. My, it has been some time since you’ve set foot in my Realm,” he says, standing slowly from the throne. He purposely ignores her first words, a silent override of her bland greeting. Just like he will try and control the conversation. “Tell me, how did you come into the company of such creatures?”

Gailien tilts her head slightly. Thranduil does not intimidate her but he does hold the power. “Thorin requested for me. I responded.” A small lie for she isn’t sure if Gandalf will appreciate his name being thrown about.

“They are just using you, you know that?” Thranduil begins to circle her but Gailien keeps her head locked forward, only meeting his eye when he walks in front of her. “For your power. They do not care about you.”

“Of course they are using me,” she counters. “That is the entire reason I am with them.”

‘Don’t give him anything to use.’ If she tries to argue his point, to argue that they care for her it will prove a weak spot. Something that Thranduil knows how to use. She doesn’t believe his words – not one bit. The Elves are cunning and calculating whereas the Dwarves will wear their thoughts clearly on their face. If they did not like her, she would know. They do not bother to pretend.

Thranduil stops circling her, stopping back in front of her and they enter a silent staring game. “What have you seen?”

“What?”

“Tell me what you have seen for the future of the Dwarves.”

Gailien almost scoffs, opening her mouth in disbelief. “Why would I ever reveal that information to you? I am loyal to them and no threat you make will change that.” But even she questions her own words. Not her declaration of loyalty, but keeping her mouth shut. Maybe Thranduil is the perfect person to alert about their common foe.

Thranduil walks forward once again, holding his chin high in the superiority he thinks he holds. His eyes flicker to the back of her head. “Indeed, you are. Thorin may have rejected my offer but you are wiser than him.”

“And now you’re going to offer me one as well?” she predicts, not needing her foresight to know the motivations of the King with a permanent scowl. Thranduil smirks mirthlessly.

“I will let the Dwarves go, even offer them safe passage to Lake Town on the condition that you renounce your position in their company and spend the rest of your life under my service. You will live here in the palace as you once did, serving as the Royal Prophet.”

For a flicker of a moment, her mind begins to truly consider his offer. But her position is with the Dwarves and she has seen them escaping. “I don’t think that is in my best interest.” 

“Is it not your interest to let the Dwarves reclaim that forsaken mountain? To help them defeat the dragon? Are you so selfish as to deny them the one thing they wish for in place of your feelings?”

“It is my interest to make sure they live to tell the tale which is not something I can ensure from a cell.”

“You would not be a prisoner.”

“Oh, so you would let me leave as I wish to?”

Thranduil’s anger grows with her snarky remarks and even Legolas’ eyes watch the scene with caution. He knows that there is nothing he can offer her that he has the power to offer that would make her change his mind. Not unless he were to torture one of the Dwarves but that is not in his best interest. No, not at all.

“Legolas. Return her to her cell.”

Legolas steps forward silently, the two guards still behind him. Thranduil turns away from Gailien, sauntering back to his Throne. Gailien purses her lips not moving until Legolas’ hand once again clasps over the back of her neck.

“You should have taken the deal,” he says as they escort the woman through the chasms. Gailien scoffs, rolling her eyes. “The Dwarves will never escape.”

“Perhaps not,” she muses. “But I’d rather spend an eternity in the cells that on a seat beside your father.”

“You have chosen immortality then?” Legolas questions, ignoring the insult to his father – a hard task but one he does not wish to argue about at that moment. Gailien cocks an eyebrow.

“Alright then, for the rest of my days. How many ever I have left.”

“You’ve chosen mortality?”

By now they have reached the cells, the Dwarves relatively quiet and Gailien could guess that at least half are asleep. Legolas frowns as he spins her around, the guard opening the door behind her. “What is the sake of immortality when everything I love is cursed by death?” The prince doesn’t have an answer. He has spent his life around people who do not die, even after centuries. The only death he sees is on the battlefield. “You should be wary of Orcs in the forest. They have been chasing us and I doubt that they would stop at the edge of the trees. They’ll be waiting and you should be too.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“Because I intend to leave this place and it would do me some good if there aren’t Orcs waiting to slaughter me. But don’t be a fool – they will slaughter you as well if you stand in their way. Which is what you are doing at this very moment.” 

Legolas narrows his eyes, but in contemplation rather than accusation. “We will handle them.”

He gestures with his head to the cell and Gailien compliantly walks backwards. The door shuts and Legolas marches off without another word. She sighs, letting the tension in her shoulder release and her forehead rests against the bars.

“What happened?” Thorin questions. Gailien tilts her head slightly to look up at him.

“Don’t worry your highness, I didn’t make any deal with him,” she remarks tiredly. “But I have seen us back out there. Somehow we leave.” She has no idea how their escape will occur, but she is certain Bilbo Baggins has something to do with it. “I fear there is not much else to tell you.”

“You said something about Orcs,” Kili states. “To the Elf.”

“That I did, dilthen er. I am hoping that the Elves may be of some use to us against the Orc pack that has been on our tails. At least slow them down until reinforcements come.”

Xx

Tauriel, it seems, has taken an interest in the youngest Dwarf. Gailien watches them as Tauriel takes an interest in Kili’s rune stone. A gift from his mother. In an odd way, she is glad that Kili has also taken a liking to her. She feels sorry for him as it is a pairing that will never be truly accepted on either side, but it makes her appreciate both Tauriel and Kili.

Kili because it is another proof of his open heart and mind – the one that Gailien already adores in him. He was the first Dwarf to truly be content in her company so it shouldn’t be a surprise that Tauriel has drawn his attention.

But her appreciation for Tauriel is being built from the ground up. She may not be overly fond of Dwarves, but her mind is also open, listening to every word Kili speaks to her. It is a display of the two races brushing their history apart, even for just a night, to truly hear what the other says.

Gailien only prays that the Elf doesn’t break his heart.

Once Tauriel leaves, Gailien finds the silence too overwhelming. “Mereth Nuin Giliath,” she says, her side leaning against the bars. “This is the day that I was born on. Not that Elves celebrate the day of their birth. But it gave them my name.”

Thorin is the one to respond to her offhanded muses, taking interest in anything she says. “Your name? What does it mean?”

“Light. It is the feast of Starlight after all.” She would never say it out loud, but she has come to love her name. Starlight is a guide to those who know how to use it and she likes to think of herself as a guide for the company. Not always needed, nor visible, but she will guide them when she can.

“It is a beautiful name.”

It is so soft coming from his lips that Gailien cannot fight the small smile growing on her cheeks. “Thank you. My father wanted something that was more fearsome, but I don’t think it would be that fitting.”

“That is not a bad thing. Your nature is what makes you so…enthralling.” Thorin barely manages to find a word to describe her and he instantly regrets his choice. Not that he doesn’t mean the words, but it is an odd way to describe someone to their face. His cheeks redden.

Gailien also blushes. “I have never been called that before,” she muses with a kind laugh. Thorin finds her enthralling – that is new information. “I’m not sure how I have earnt that description, but I will take it nonetheless.” Oh so daringly, she let’s her eyes wander up to Thorin’s and to her surprise, he holds her gaze as he also leans against the cell doors. Her fingers twitch, reimagining her fingers running through his hair, brushing over his braids and through his beard. And to have his hands through hers. “Kili!” she calls out, giving Thorin a light smirk in anticipation.

“Yes?”

“As the only Elf in this company, I would like to just give you the confirmation that Tauriel is indeed, an Elf maiden,” she states with as much faux gravity as she can manage. The Dwarves who understand her reference snort out in laughter.

“Oh, shut up!” Kili cries, either to her or the chortling company. Thorin must have been let in on the joke because even his shoulders vibrate. “Harthon in enyd chen medithar!”

Gailien drops her mouth, breaking her gaze from Thorin to Kili. “Such hatred,” she taunts. If they are to be trapped in here, the least she can do is lighten their moods.

“Chen ú-vilin!”

Gailien begins to cackle, her hands clasping in front of her. She is glad that Kili pestered her for insults until she gave in because hearing them come from his mouth is like listening to a child throw a tantrum. Because of his newness to learning the language, he knows the phrases more so than the individual words and he intones them on the completely wrong parts. But she gives him credit for trying.

“I’ll remember that next time I see you trying to take food from my pack, you little thief!”

“We established that was Fili!”

“Fili doesn’t leave traces of the evidence on their clothing. Don’t think I didn’t see you trying to remove that berry stain back at the Carrock.”

“You keep giving out my secrets then I’m going to have to let out a few of yours!”

Gailien tilts her head, giving Kili both a teasing but scrutinising expression. What secrets does he know of hers? It isn’t like she has many in the first place and the few that she does are not things she has likely spilt to him by accident.

“Oh, I’ve got you now, don’t I?” Kili taunts, beaming now that the tables have turned. “I know your dirty little secret. And so does Fili.”

Fili leans forward, holding up a hand to Gailien. “I have no intention of revealing anything, so leave me out of whatever this is.”

“Well if I didn’t have favourites before, now I sure do,” Gailien snorts. “And I don’t even know what secret you’re even talking about. I haven’t told you anything incriminating that the whole company doesn’t already know.”

She crosses her arms – a display of rigidness and self-preservation. Kili smirks, leaning back from the cell bars a little. He gives an incriminating gesture with his head and Gailien’s eyes trace the invisible line. There is only one thing that he can be suggesting. Her eyes snap back to the younger Dwarf. Is she that obvious or is Kili just that observant? Though, Fili knows as well apparently. No – maybe they are suggesting something else, but this is just the conclusion that she is coming to.

Nevertheless, she glares at the young prince. “Take whatever food you want but I will murder you in your sleep if you say anything.” Kili smiles in content.

“Oi! I don’t know what this secret is!” Bofur cries, still desperate to fill the boredom of the endless days in the cells. “Come on, you can tell me!”

Gailien tilts her head so she can see the end of Bofur’s nose and his hands peeking out of the cell next to hers. “Did you not just hear my threat?”

“You can’t reach me from over there,” he counters. Then he sighs, saying, “lass, is it to do with the fact that you split the last of our milk after Rivendell? Everybody is over that now.”

Gailien gasps, her cheeks reddening. “That…No!” She didn’t think anybody had seen her embarrassing moment. She’d just wanted a drink but ended up knocking it over with her foot. She secretly placed the empty jar back into the pack and that ended with Bombur being quite upset.

“I’m not over it!” Dwalin growls loudly. This leads to the Dwarves loudly complaining, throwing insults at one another as confessions are given and accusations being thrown around. Gailien huffs with a breath of laughter, letting their voices drown out her worries at least for a short time. Once again, her sights drift up to their leader. He is looking away, down at the company but feeling her eyes, his own drift to meet hers. Her lips pull up in a half-smile, and even Thorin manages to give a brief nod – a thanks for keeping their spirits up.


	39. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: The Escape

The celebrations of the Starlight festival must be on their way of ending. They have little in the way of knowing the position of the sun, only that their meals are given at the same time each day. The jubilant atmosphere the company had managed to create through the night grew weary and now they lie in their cells, drowning in sorrows.

Gailien has seen them escape – going down the river in barrels but how they get to that point she has no idea. And Kili. The arrow in his leg. She must stop that somehow. The river rapids send a fling of fear through her, knowing that being caught in their waters is how her brother died but Gailien is a strong swimmer, only cumbered by her own mentality. That seems to be a common problem that she faces. Her own mind.

“I’ll wager the sun is on the rise,” Bofur muses solemnly. “Must be nearly dawn.”

“We’re ever goa reach the mountain, are we?” Ori moans. Gailien lies on her back, staring at the ceiling trying to make the time go faster by purely willing it to.

Bilbo Baggins, their burglar Hobbit with a habit of getting out of sticky situations, has been spending the last few days tracking the Dwarves down, then finding a way out. Now, with a plan in motion, he arrives at the cells with the ring neatly tucked into his pocket. “Not stuck in here you’re not,” he says, announcing his presence. He pulls the guards keys – which he stole while they sleep off the wine – from his coat.

“Bilbo!” Balin cries. Thorin pushes off the back of his cell wall, scrambling to the front as Bilbo stands outside his cell. He knew that Bilbo would come through, even though his hope started to dimmer. Gailien had assured him, when the Elves weren’t present, that they would find a way out.

The Dwarves begin to cheer, and even Gailien is overcome with excitement but as the Dwarves’ voices echo loudly, she scans the halls for any Elves. “Shh!” she hushes.

“There are guards nearby!” Bilbo adds in a hiss as he starts to unlock Thorin’s cell, then moves onto Balin’s. Gailien waits (not so patiently) for her own to be unlocked. Once it is, Gailien beams at the Hobbit.

“You are incredible Master Baggins,” she announces. Bilbo gives her a sheepish smile before continuing on to the final few Dwarves below her. Gailien grins, patting Fili on the shoulder as he is released.

“I have something of yours,” she says. Fili frowns for a moment but then expresses recognition as Gailien bends down into the side of her boots, pulling the dagger from it. “Don’t lose it.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, holding the blade close.

“I try,” she quips.

The thirteen Dwarves and their companions are now huddled together in the middle of the prison area which presents them with their next problem. They will never escape by going out the front door but unless they wish to go further in, then up is their only option.

They all look quite the mess as well; spider webs still stuck in their hair, their outer layers stripped and circles under their eyes from the tire of not being able to do anything.

“What’s that?” Kili questions.

“You first.”

“Ori!”

They try to organise themselves, sticking to the rocks as though it will provide them with some cover. A few seconds of grace maybe. Bilbo though begins to lead them in another direction.

“Not that way,” he hisses. “Down here, follow me!”

“Which way?” Bombur questions. Gailien flickers her eyes around, trying to determine what direction he is leading them to. She doesn’t recall much about the layout of the kingdom besides the major chambers, but she trusts Bilbo, and apparently so do the other Dwarves.

They follow Bilbo down in a single file as he leads them even further deeper into Mirkwood’s palace. There are no Elves on their path – likely still at the celebrations or sleeping them off. And it is early morn.

Soon their path comes to a slow stop as the Dwarves pile up on a short staircase.

“The cellars?” Gailien mutters, frowning as she looks around. This would be the last place she would have led them.

Kili seems to have the same idea. “I don’t believe it, we’re in the cellars!” he cries, shaking his fists.

Bofur walks forward, spinning around. “You’re supposed to be leading us out not further in!”

“I know what I’m doing!” Bilbo exclaims (though still hushed). On one side of the cellars are the two Elves that should be on duty but they lie fast asleep with their heads on the table, surrounded by empty wine jars. “Okay, this way. This way.” He waves his hands across, ushering the Dwarves into the other side of the cellars.

It is only then that Gailien finally puts all the pieces together. “Bilbo Baggins you are a genius,” she hushes in an intone, squeezing his shoulder as she passes him. Lined up perfectly are a number of empty barrels. This is where they would release the barrels, sending them into the river below where they would flow out. All the way to Lake-town.

Bilbo thanks fate that at least one person trusts him as the Dwarves look around with narrowed eyes. “Everyone, climb into the barrels, quickly!” he instructs. Gailien stands next to Thorin on the short platform.

“Are you mad? They’ll find us!” Dwalin protests.

Bilbo shakes his head, already feeling the stress for time weighing down on them. “No, no. they won’t! I promise. Please, please, you must trust me!”

The Dwarves start mumbling amongst each other. Gailien grasps Thorin arm, forcing him to look at her. She nods then lets go of his arm, jumping down onto the lower level and starts climbing into one of the barrels as the others watch on in disbelief.

“Do as he says!” Thorin commands. 

The Dwarves follow their leader's command and they begin lifting each other into the barrels. Kili and Fili move into the ones on her left and she uses her hands to give Ori a push into the one above her. Thorin is the last to get in, checking that everybody else is in before climbing in the last barrel. Bilbo stands in front of them, counting over as well.

Bofur pokes his head out. “What do we do now?”

The rest of the Dwarves stick their heads out, watching as Bilbo marches over to the large lever sticking out of the floor. “I suggest you prepare to get wet,” Gailien says, already anticipating the drop. Her fingers clench around the outside of the barrel. Bilbo gives her a pointed gesture of agreement.

Bilbo pulls the lever and under the weight of the barrels and Dwarves, the floorboards beneath them begin to tip. Gailien presses her elbows against the side, watching as the world starts to turn in front of her. The Dwarves cry out as the barrels begin flying through the air and they begin to land in the water.

Gailien’s barrel hits the river, soaking her in water but the barrel stays afloat and the right way up. Around her, the rest of the company are falling in or starting to float away. She looks back up the floorboards. “Bilbo!”

“We will wait for our burglar!” Thorin commands. Gailien and Dwalin float behind Thorin through a thin passage. The two reach out, grasping the rocky sides and Thorin grasps their barrels, effectively creating a blockade for the rest of the Dwarves that become dammed against them. The murky water’s current pushes against the barrels but as soon as they can move, it will be in their favour.

The sound of their heavy breathes fill the chasm ad Gailien’s ears he the slight thuds of feet on the planks above them.

“Where is he?” Bofur exclaims. “Where is Bilbo?”

“He’s coming,” Gailien assures. “I can hear him still up there.” She eyes Thorin’s fingers which are curled around her barrel’s edge. She holds the instinct that surges through her to go out and reach them, lace them with her own. Her own fingers merely a few inches away, also clinging tightly to the barrel. But those are selfish thoughts and are useless wastes of energy when the lives of the company are presently at very high risk.

Then the planks begin to tip again, and their Hobbit stumbles out backwards. His arms flail about and his feet leave the ground, but he doesn’t spend long in the air. He crashes into the river, Nori already waiting for him.

“Well done, Mast Baggins,” Thorin says, grinning. Bilbo lifts a hand, mumbling something incoherent as he clings to the outer edge of Nori’s barrel. “Go, come on, let’s go!”

Gailien and Dwalin let go of the stony sides and they let the current sway against them, drifting down the course with the water. Her arms extend over the sides, the cool water covering her forearms as she uses her hands as a makeshift paddle.

They flow down the stream, bumping into each other, narrowly missing their hands being caught. The water begins to roughen, jostling Gailien and the rest about and her feet have to be held wide, so she does not fall down.

“Hold on!”

In front of them is a small waterfall and there is no other choice but to let themselves fall down its path. Thorin is the first to tip over, followed by Nori and poor Bilbo who is still clinging to the outside of it. Gailien follows shortly after, trying to hold herself in the middle so she does not tip over.

She screams as her barrel tips over the edge, the water covering her before she even hits the river below. Water clogs every orifice and she quickly shuts her mouth, realising her mistake. Her knees buckle as the barrel suddenly stops falling, her back pressing against the edge. It almost seems like she is going to tip over, but the barrels keep upright with a surprising amount of balance.

There is no part of her that remains dry, including her throat. She coughs up the water, her eyes wide open so she can see as much as possible through the white field. Her barrel continues with the current, away from the river but the rough water doesn’t stop.

Her barrel collides with Nori’s, thankfully not squishing Bilbo. There are rapids in the water, sending them all which direction. “Bilbo!” Gailien leans over the edge of her barrel, reaching down to Bilbo to try and pull him into her own. Bilbo reaches out, his fingertips brushing with hers when another force collides with her. Fortunately, Thorin’s barrel came from her side and not her behind as she would have surely been thrown over if it were. Her barrel is forced away from Nori’s, leaving Bilbo to go back to clinging to it.

An Elvish horn is blown, easily heard by all ears. Gailien’s eyes widen even more as she spins around to face the direction they are floating. The bridge up ahead that they will have the flow through has Elven guards standing at attention, and now on of those men have heard the order. The Elf runs towards the lever, pulling it back and her stomach sinks as the metal grated gates below the bridge shut just before they reach them.

“No!” Thorin cries, grasping the gate as his barrel is the first to collide with it. Gailien’s collides next to him and she screams a string of Elvish curses at both the Elves and fate.

“Watch out!”

Where most of the company are piled up, an Elvish body falls down into the water, an arrow sticking out of their back. Then there is a deep growl that can only belong to one creature. “Orcs,” she spits, sharing a blazing glare with Thorin. Above them is the sound of blades being unsheathed, match with the sound of them meeting flesh an armour.

Through the grate she can see them running out of the forest in high number, bodies of both Orc and Elf falling dead into the river. “Get over the bridge!” Thorin cries. One Orc falls into the river but lands on Fili’s barrel. Fili, already grasping his dagger, pierces the Orc’s neck who promptly falls backwards into the water.

More start to find the company and the Dwarves begin defending themselves with bare hands. Her visions replay in her mind and she realises what is about to happen. “No! Kili, don’t!” Kili briefly glances at her but ignores her pleas, returning his sights onto the lever. Gailien cries out in frustration. Using her hands, she props herself up, letting her body fall over the edge of the barrel and she submerges herself into the river.

Holding her chin high, Gailien kicks her legs with as much power as she can exert, her hands pushing the barrels out of the way to make a path. Kili is already leaving his own, about the climb up onto the bridge. “Kili!” Her cry is as futile as trying to push away the heavy barrels. Taking a deep breath, Gailien dives into the water, squinting to see through the murky substance. The cries of those above water are muffled, but there is no less chaos as she tries to swim underneath the barrels. Bodies fall into the water and an arrow narrowly misses her head.

Finally, on the other side, she kicks to the surface. Her head whips around, trying to orientate herself. Kili is on the bridge, fighting off an orc. Gailien pushes herself to the edge, pulling herself out of the water with a speed she didn’t know she was capable of. An Orc strides towards her, but with no weapon to defend herself with, she kicks out, using the wall of the bridge as leverage, sending it to the Dwarves below who are already collecting weapons from the fallen bodies.

Kili marches towards the lever and out of the corner of her eye, she can see Bolg pulling an arrow in his bow. Gailien launches herself forward. Her hands connecting with his shoulders and with the force of body throws both herself and the young Dwarf to the ground. The arrow whizzes past them, the back of her wet blouse feeling the wind of its shaft, but it collides with the stone behind them. Kili’s chest is planted in the ground but his head is turned, looking over his shoulder at Gailien who is already staring at him. She did it.

Kili’s eyes shift out to Bolg who is already loading another arrow. The young Dwarf bends his elbows, pushing himself off the ground at an angle that forces Gailien to roll onto her side and their places are swapped.

Although he is expecting it, the pain in his leg is incomprehensible. Gailien watches as the Dwarf’s face slowly morphs in pain and his hand reach down to his lower calf. A dark arrow sticking out of it. No.

“No, no, no.”

She stopped it. But she hasn’t stopped anything. Kili’s teeth are clenched as he rolls onto his side next to Gailien. “Kili!” His brother. Bolg, once again prepares another arrow, taking his sweet time to aim at the woman who is caught in the shock of events.

An orc climbs over the bridge but before it can reach them, it is shot down by an arrow. Tauriel emerges, her bow in hand. Gailien breaks from her frozen mind, standing back up over the young Dwarf, her hands empty but ready to defend. More Orcs come but Tauriel is already digging their graves.

The gate. Gailien’s defensive stance drops as the lever becomes the focus in her mind. In three quick long strides, her hands clasp around the long wooden shaft and pulls down on it. The gate grinds underneath her, opening up for the Dwarves and the first barrels begin to flow through.

Kili grunts in pain behind her, still lying on the stony ground. Taking the arrow out will cause it to bleed more but it is not feasible to travel the distance they are with an arrow out of his leg. Rushing back over to him, she places one hand on his chest, the other wrapping around the base of the arrow.

“Goheno nin,” she mutters, pressing down on his chest as the other hand pulls sharply at the arrow. Kili cries out, his fingers clenching around her wrist. Tossing the arrow away, she drags him back to the edge of the bridge where a few of the Dwarves are still waiting.

Fili calls out for his brother again and braving the pain, Kili leaps over the edge, landing in his empty barrel. Another sharp cry leaves his throat as his leg impacts the ground. Gailien jumps over too, her feet locked together as she falls through the air, landing back in the water as her own barrel is long gone. She kicks back to the surface, clinging to the side of Dwalin’s barrel.

She avoids looking at Kili’s pained face knowing that is her fault that he is feeling that. “Hold on lass,” Dwalin growls loudly as the rest of the company begin flowing down the rest of the river. And hold on Gailien does.


	40. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Rivers to Barges

Another splash of water threatens her grip of Dwalin’s barrel as they fall down another short waterfall. The Orcs are right on their tails. Legolas and Tauriel only manage to hold off so many as the Dwarves are faced with the rest. Though they do not dare and enter the harshly currented river, those armed with a bow do everything they can to try and kill them.

Arrows begin to thud into the sides of the barrels and Gailien barely has a spare moment to watch out for them as she is continuously dunked into the water. Her eyes sting from the constant water pushing against them, her legs floating freely underneath her at the mercy of the current.

Thorin slashes the metal weapon as an Orc attempts to jump onto this barrel. Somehow, Dwalin and Gailien’s barrel does not become the victim of the Orc’s poor shots. Another Orc tries to jump down onto Balin as the river narrows but Thorin throws his weapon, both killing the Orc and trapping him to a fallen branch. The Orc’s weapon drops into Thorin’s hands who proceeds to toss it back to Dwalin, then Nori, then Fili who swings it at the feet of another Orc.

The continue with the strong current, falling down a few more short drops. One Orc leaps onto their barrel, on the opposite side to Gailien and she is thrusted around with the new weight which tilts the barrel, her legs even coming out of the water. Dwalin – the only of the two with the ability to do anything – gives the creature a good whack and it falls off with an animalistic cry, its battle-axe left with Dwalin as a reward.

A line of Orcs stands on a fallen tree branch that spans the width of the narrow river. Thorin reaches up, slashing his weapon against the middle of the branch, weakening but not cutting it. Dwalin and Gailien pass through next and Dwalin swings at it with his newly acquired axe and it falls under his efforts, sending the Orcs scrambling into the water.

Dwalin calls out to Bombur, throwing the Dwarf his axe as more Orcs try to land on their barrels. With the axe embedded, Bombur manages to pike himself over a log and back onto solid ground, smashing into another band of Orcs as he does so. Dwalin and Gailien pass Bilbo who clings to a tipped barrel for dear life.

Bombur manages to acquire two weapons, his hands poking through the broken sides of his barrel and fights off a small army of Orcs before jumping into another unoccupied barrel. Legolas, who Gailien hadn’t even realised had come out this far suddenly appears, his feet planting on Dwalin and another Dwarf’s head. He balances on them, shooting in every direction at their common foe.

He does things in his typical Elvish style, balancing, leaping from the ground and sliding down on an Orc before using the Dwarves as stepping-stones to reach the other side. Gailien watches as he fights with one Orc, another sneaking up behind him. Her mouth opens to scream a warning but Thorin flings his weapon, killing the hidden enemy. She reminds herself to thank him later.

With one last small waterfall, the Orcs seem to have disappeared but soon enough, Gailien’s eyes can see them on the banks, still chasing after them. The rapids continue for a while, and they let the current take them but soon it calms down until the surface is flat, only disturbed by them. Gailien kicks as Dwalin uses his hands as a paddle to keep them moving.

“You still alive lass?” Dwalin asks. As an answer, Gailien glares up at him, spitting out the water that has accumulated in her mouth.

“Anything behind us?” Thorin questions.

“Not that I can see,” Balin answers. Not trusting his aging sight, Gailien looks around for herself but there is also nothing she can see.

“I think we’ve outrun the Orcs,” Bofur announces, nearly tipping his barrel over.

“Not for long, we’ve lost the current,” Thorin counters.

“We almost half-drowned!” Dwalin growls.

“Make for the shore!” Thorin orders. “Come on, let’s go.” Wanting nothing more than to get out of the water, Gailien happily complies, pushing her weight against the barrel, her legs out behind her as she kicks her and the Dwarf to the rocky shore nearby. Some of them struggle as they are pulled down by the smaller current.

She nearly cries in relief as her feet meet the solid ground and she all but drags herself out of the water, not even finding the energy to help the others. Bending over her knees, she hacks up the rest of the water trapped in her lungs before standing back up. Kili sits (falls) down on his knees, clutching his leg.

Gailien clambers over to him as he holds a rag to it, scrunching his face in pain. Gailien places a hand on his shoulder, the other lightly pulling at the fabric of his pants to see the wound. Feeling her hand, Kili opens his eyes to find both Gailien and Bofur watching him with concern. He drops his face. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

“I am so sorry Kili,” she whispers. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

Kili shrugs his shoulders like it was nothing. “I’m tough,” he counters, holding a brave face. Fili joins Gailien’s side, taking the cloth from his brother. Kili’s words don’t make her feel any better – worse even - but she gives him a smile.

“I know you are.”

“On your feet,” Thorin commands.

“Kili’s wounded,” Fili says. “His leg needs binding.”

“There’s an Orc pack at our tail. We keep moving.”

“To where?” Balin questions.

“To the mountain,” Bilbo says. “We’re so close.”

Fili begins tying a rag around Kili’s leg and though she knows he doesn’t want any sort of comfort – because that would prove he needs it – Gailien stands behind his shoulder, gently rubbing it. She knows that Thorin is just worried about being caught against the Orcs now that they are weapon-less, but it will hinder them even more to have a member that might bleed out half-way to Lake-town.

“A lake lies between us and the mountain, we have no way to cross it,” Balin argues.

“So, we go around,” Bilbo suggests.

“With what supplies?” Gailien speaks up. “With an Orc pack on our tail, we don’t even have time to make a camp, let alone find food and weapons.”

“Bind his leg, quickly,” Thorin orders. “You have two minutes.”

Her boots squeak under each step she takes towards Thorin. His eyes are trained on the water until he notices her presence. Gailien stands beside him, crossing her arms against the cooler air of the late autumn. “Do you have a plan?” she asks. Thorin breathes heavily through his nose.

“Have you seen anything that might be useful?” he asks in the place of an answer. Gailien shakes her head, slightly ashamed.

“No, I only saw us escaping. I never saw anything beyond us reaching the bridge.” Both of them stand there, Bilbo also by their sides, soaked through to their bones. Gailien snorts as she looks to Thorin’s hair.

“What?”

“At least the cobwebs are out of your hair,” she snorts tiredly. “I thought Radagast was making an impression on you.” Thorin huffs, also crossing his arms. It is entirely possible that Gailien is using humour to forget what happened to Kili, but she relents to admit it. “Pity, it was beginning to become quite a look on you.”

“At least you don’t look like you’ve been rolling around in dirt anymore,” Thorin counters. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen your actual skin in weeks.” Of course, teasing should be at the back of his mind at this moment, but he just can’t help matching her comments. Gailien rubs her cheek.

“It was one crazy bath.” They both stare at each other for a moment, both looking over the features of the other that they pointed out. Even though all this chaos, Thorin’s braids have stayed put, barely messed up. Gailien has indeed been washed of all the grime that has been building up since Beorn’s and she is sure that she probably smells at least semi-decent now. Bilbo stands on the side, his eyebrows raised as he glances between the two.

If Gailien wasn’t so caught up in staring at the Dwarf, she probably would have noticed the human man sneaking up on them, his arrow pointed right at Ori who is pouring the water out of his boots.

But Dwalin notices in her place, catching the attention of the rest of the company. He holds up a thick stick across his chest, standing in front of the off-guard Ori. The man releases his arrow and it pierces the middle of the stick. The company begin to take defensive. Kili raises back to his feet, pulling up a stone but quicker than they can register, the rock is knocked from the young Dwarf’s hand by another arrow.

Gailien’s eyes widen, her hands clenching around air where they should be a weapon. The man loads another bow, slower, now a threat as he points it at the company. Gailien stumbles back a little as the arrow drifts over her and Thorin’s arm drifts out in front of her, guiding her back even further.

“Do it again, and you’re dead,” the man warns.

Balin leans to the side, looking past the new person. “Excuse me, but you’re from Lake-town if I’m not mistaken?” he assumes, slowly walking forward. Bard holds his bow higher, pointing it at the white-haired Dwarf as the rest watch on. “That barge over there, it wouldn’t be available for hire by any chance?” 

Bard lowers his bow, sheathing the dark arrow. No longer seeing the company as a threat, he begins to walk back over to his barge, the company trailing after. “What makes you think I would help you?” the man questions, beginning to set the boat up for his return.

“Those boots have seen better days, as has that coat,” Balin insinuates. The man begins rolling the barrels that the Dwarves arrived in, onto the boat. “No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed? How main bairns?”

“A boy and two girls,” the man answers.

“And your wife, I imagine she’s a beauty?”

Even to a blind man, the pain in his expression is clear. “Aye, she was.”

Gailien winces, not even being able to imagine the death of what is supposed to be a lifelong partner. “I’m sorry,” Balin gapes. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, come on, come on,” Dwalin growls. “Enough with the niceties.”

“Dwalin,” Gailien chides but her words are ignored.

“What’s your hurry?” The bargeman wonders.

“What’s it to you?” Dwalin counters.

“I would like to know who you are, and what you were doing in these lands.”

“We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains, journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills.”

Bard scrutinises the group once more. The most are Dwarves, but there are two in the company that do not belong to that race. “Your kin, you say? Then why do two non-Dwarves travel with you? Surely you do not need protection?” He taunts the last few words, looking both Bilbo and Gailien over.

Balin widens his eyes, faking the pleasantry of the man’s keen eye. “Ah, that would be our lovely Gailien and her brother Bilbo. They are our…”

“Betrothed,” Thorin answers. It will be the easiest reason to explain both of their presences. “Gailien is betrothed and her brother has asked to accompany her in our travels.” Gailien keeps the heat from rising to her cheeks, planting a small smile instead for the strange man.

Bard isn’t quite sure if he believes any part of their story, but even so, she does stand noticeably close to the Dwarf who answered. “Simple merchants, you say?” he falls back to.

“We need food, supplies, weapons,” Thorin states. “Can you help us?” 

“I know where these barrels come from.”

“What of it?”

“I don’t know what business you had with the Elves, but I don’t think it ended well.” He fingers one of the barrels where there is an indent from an arrow. “No one enters Lake-town but by lead of the master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland realm. He would see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil.”

He throws a thick rope at Balin who barely catches it. The white-haired Dwarf looks to Thorin who gestures to keep talking. Bard picks up his bow and arrows as Balin keeps trying. “I’ll wager that there are ways to enter that town unseen.”

“Aye,” the bargeman says, almost entertained at their efforts. “But for that, you’ll need a smuggler.”

“For which we would pay double,” Balin says, laying down their offer. This offer of money catches the attention of the bargeman. He looks back over the Dwarves and their two other companions.

“How much?”


	41. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Across the Lake

“You know our names, but we do not know yours,” Bilbo says as he and Gailien sit near the bargeman as he paddles the slowly through the waters.

“Bard,” he answers. “So, how long have you been siblings?” Bilbo and Gailien both open their mouths to answer but their faces drop, leaving their jaws hanging. “Do not think me stupid,” Bard adds. “You two do not even belong to the same race. I can see your pointed ears Elf, and his feet. So, tell me, how did you come into the company of thirteen Dwarves?”

“That is always what they ask,” Gailien muses. “I’m just helping guide them. The road is dangerous, and they employed my help. Bilbo sort of just got dragged along by some events (read: Gandalf).”

“So, I take it you are not betrothed to one of the Dwarves either then?”

Gailien snorts, shaking her head. “Our story is a long one and we don’t have the time to explain it all.” She leans back against the wood of the seat, her backside planted on the ground. She is still soaked, along with everybody else. Thorin stands near the edge, overlooking the lake as the slowly move through it. The fog begins to grow thicker, chunks of ice bobbing.

Deciding the stretch, since all they have been doing for the last few days is sit around, Gailien stands, ruffling Kili’s hair softly as she passes him on her way to Thorin. She crosses her arms, matching his brooding stance.

“It has been a long time since I’ve been to Lake-town,” Gailien muses quietly. “Over four hundred years.”

“You visited Lake Town?” Thorin wonders. “What about Dale?”

“Only once. I was actually going to Erebor for the first time. I was maybe, thirty at the time. My father didn’t want to go alone after our mother’s death.” Thorin stares at her. She had never mentioned having seen the halls or Erebor herself. “My father was overseeing some of the trade on Thranduil’s behalf. It was amazing.” Gailien smiles, gazing out into the fog. “It is no wonder you have such a strong desire to return. It was so full of…life. It made Mirkwood seem dull and bland.”

“And you will see it like that once again. Once we return it to its full glory.” Thorin places a hand on her arm, drawing her sight away from the foggy water. “You know you are most welcome to stay with us. In fact, I insist you do.”

Gailien almost laughs, recalling that they are almost what Fili said he would say. Her mind is still set though, that her future does not belong in a Dwarven realm. It is almost sad to think that their quest may be over sooner rather than later. But this is not the time for protesting. “I appreciate your offer, but let’s get Erebor back before we start that sort of talk.”

“Do you doubt us?”

“Not at all, but I don’t like talking about a future that I have not yet seen.”

Thorin drops his hand, staring at the bead in her hair that has stayed in place (thanks to the craftsmanship of Dwarves). “The man you were talking about in the cells. If you do wish to stay with us…he is more than welcome to Erebor as well.”

Gailien opens her mouth to respond but instead, her open lips form into a mirthful smile. “I’m sure he would love to stay in Erebor,” she muses. “He loves Dwarves.”

“Oh? Does he?” Thorin cocks his head, only continuing the conversation out of politeness since this is not a topic that he finds anything pleasant in. “You never told us his name.”

“But if I tell you his name, the mystery starts to disappear,” she quips.

“And why is he such a mystery? Do you think we’d judge you for whom you have given your heart to?”

“I know you would. Not that I think you’d think badly of him but I’m afraid you’ll look differently at me.”

“So, that implies that we should know of them.”

“And perhaps you do. But I am not willing to run with that risk.”

Thorin sighs, only managing a small smile but Gailien barely contains her mirthful one, enjoying the irony and the exhilaration of the dangerous topic. No doubt Fili and Kili are exchanging looks behind their backs. If Kili is even aware in his state.

“Once we have a moment of peace, I’ll meditate and see if I can find anything useful,” she says, the topic of Kili dimming all mirthful mood. “Durin’s Day is in less than a month.”

“Still enough time to reach the mountain. As long as the bargeman can do as he promised.”

“But first we must do as we promised,” she adds. Thorin frowns, not understanding her words until Gailien digs into the small purse at her waist, pulling out three silver coins. “I don’t have much, but I don’t make habit of carrying a lot of gold around. And even then, I only have this because of one of the wagers.”

“The honey-cake one?” Thorin wonders.

“No,” she chortles. “I let Fili keep that. No, this was thanks to Bofur after we left the Shire. And thanks to Bilbo I suppose.”

Thorin shakes his head with a small humorous smile. He digs into his own belt pocket, pulling out a handful of coins. He cups her hand, pouring the contents into it. “Take those to Balin,” he instructs. Gailien nods, turning around on the small barge to where Balin is beginning to collect their smuggler’s price. She places the handful on the counter, muttering something about it being both hers and Thorin’s share. She returns to Thorin’s side who throws a narrowed glare over her shoulder. “Do you trust him?”

“I do,” she answers with confidence. “If he has three children then he wouldn’t risk being caught, and if he hands us in, he won’t get his money.” She looks over her own shoulder, meeting eyes with Bard who seems to be listening to their conversation, even if it is only above whispers. “Besides, he probably knows that we’ll cause trouble if he does.”

Their attention is taken by large stones protruding from the water, covered by the fog until they are only feet away. For a moment it seems like they are going to run into one and Bofur yells “watch out” but the barge is swiftly turned out of the way.

“What are you trying to do?” Thorin growls. “Drown us?”

Gailien rolls her eyes, softly nudging the Dwarf’s side with the back of her hand. “I was born and bred on these waters, Master Dwarf. If I wanted to drown you, I would not do it here,” Bard says.

“Oh, I’ve had enough of this lippy lake-man. I say we throw him over the side and be done with him,” Dwalin states, sending Bard a typical Dwarven glare.

“First of all,” Gailien begins, propping out her leg. “His name is Bard, Dwalin. And second, he is the only reason we have a way of entering Lake-town without arousing this ‘master.’ So, I suggest that if we are going to talk about him, you do it where he cannot hear. And you don’t need to like him, you need to pay him.” 

Thorin walks closer to the edge, crossing his arms as he leans against the edge.

“That we do lass,” Balin agrees. “Come on, turn out your pockets.”

The Dwarves reluctantly start pulling silver coins from their pockets, tossing them onto the crate that Balin is using as a table.

“How do we know he won’t betray us?” Dwalin questions Thorin.

“We don’t,” Thorin answers. Gailien leaves his side, walking over to where Kili sits with his brother, his left leg extended.

“How are you going?” she asks quietly, sitting down on his other side.

“I don’t need babying,” he grumbles, shrivelling his nose. The tension in her cheeks drop and she nods her head, bowing it slightly.

“I don’t mean to,” she defends. “But don’t lie to us. Out of everybody, I would know what happens when a wound isn’t treated in time.” She extends her own leg in emphasis, rubbing her thumb across the knee. “Binding isn’t enough. We need medical supplies.”

“I said I don’t need babying, especially by you.” Kili says those words which so much spite behind them that Gailien is honestly shocked that the young Dwarf who she adores is able to conjure such emotion, let alone aim it at somebody.

“Kili,” Fili chides. Kili briefly glares at his brother before returning his stony gaze to the deck. Gailien swallows thickly, blinking away the emotion from her eyes. Deciding it best not to stay, Gailien silently stands back up and walks back over to Bilbo. Her face is expressionless, on the outside but inside the eyes, there is a storm of emotion – confusion, desperation, guilt. Does Kili blame her for what happened? She would have willingly taken that second arrow had she see it coming.

She hadn’t meant to baby him – she surely wasn’t coddling him or telling him not to do anything. Especially by you. That punch to the gut is hard and she isn’t even sure why. Why especially not her? Maybe he doesn’t enjoy her presence as much as she thought he does.

“Bilbo,” she says, forcing herself not to think too much on the topic. The Hobbit hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. “I know this is a large thing to ask, but after this quest, assuming I make it out alive I would love to return to the Shire with you. And possibly… stay there for a while.”

“You want to stay in the Shire?” Bilbo asks with a pleasant surprise. Gailien nods in affirmation. “Of course, you are more than welcome to stay at Bag-End as long as you want. There’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

“Really? Because I don’t want to be a hassle or anything, but I enjoy your company very much and I’ve always loved the Shire.”

“It’s no hassle at all.” Bilbo leans back, his eyes wandering around as he imagines his future back at his home. “We’ll be the talk of the town for a century. Disappearing for a year then returning with an Elf.”

“Well I don’t know about you, but I’m quite used to that.”

Bilbo nods in understanding before he leans forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. He tilts to the side, leaning closer to Gailien. “I’m surprised that you don’t want to stay with the Dwarves. I know that Thorin just offered you a place in Erebor.”

Gailien shrugs, fiddling with her fingers. “I don’t think a Dwarven settlement is a place for me. It was hard enough to get this lot to trust me, let alone more.”

“What about Thorin?” Gailien looks to Bilbo out of the side of her eye before flickering them to the said Dwarf. Luckily, Bilbo has the tact to keep his voice low. “Look, I see exactly how you act around him and I don’t imagine that you are so easily prepared to leave him behind after all this.”

“Of course I’m not,” Gailien hisses, pinning her sights on her shoes. “But… he will be a King of a Dwarven realm. Where do I fit in that image? Besides, I shouldn’t even be thinking like that. He’s made no declaration of even having any sort of emotions beyond platonic friendship.”

“Have you?” Bilbo counters. Gailien pauses in her fiddling, wishing that she had the bear Bofur made. At least she didn’t lose anything of too much value.

“There’s um…just a wee problem,” Balin announces, letting Gailien off the hook with answering Bilbo. “We’re ten coins short.” For one of the few times in her life, Gailien feels guilty about not carrying more. Thorin though already has a suspect in mind.

“Gloin, come on,” he says, leaving his place at the edge of the barge. “Give us what you have.”

“Don’t look to me. I have been bled dry by this venture! What have I seen for my investment? Naught but misery and grief and…” However, through his rant, the company’s attention has been taken away to something much more precious to them then a few coins.

Even Gailien and Bilbo stand, joining the Dwarves. Through the thick fog, the Lonely Mountain peaks through. For many, it is the first time seeing the land that they have been told so much about – the halls filled with gold and the craftsmanship of the Erebor Dwarves. And to two Dwarves, it is a return to their home that they have not seen in over one hundred years.

“Bless my Beard.” Gloin pulls out his hidden coin sack, handing it to Balin as his eyes are glued to the mountain peak. “Take it. Take all of it.”

With an act of newfound courage, Gailien lifts her hand, resting it on the back of Thorin’s arm. He turns his head to find Gailien smiling kindly at him before her eyes turn back to the mountain, her hand staying place. Thorin breathes deeply, also turning his head back out to the mountain but the fingers of his hand slowly lift between them. He almost reaches her, his fingertips brushing against the material of her blouse, pressing gently over her skin but Bilbo coughs loudly, alerting the company that Bard is walking towards them.

“The money, quick,” Bard demands. “Give it to me.”

Thorin turns back around, his hands dropping to his side. “We will pay you when we get our provisions, but not before.”

“If you value your freedom, you’ll do as I say. There are guards ahead.” The company look towards the port that they will be shortly arriving at. Gailien thought that they may be taking a secret entrance, not straight through the main gates.

“And how exactly do you plan on smuggling us pass those guards?” Gailien questions.

Bard’s eyes flicker to the barrels. “I suggest you get in.”

Some of the Dwarves groan, mumbling amongst themselves as habit but with no other idea coming from any of their mouths, they are forced to follow Bard’s plan. Gailien instinctively prepares herself to help Kili but his words hit her again. Heading to her own barrel she prepares to pull herself over when two large hands plant on her hips, lifting her into the air. She pulls her legs up, dropping them back down into the barrel. She turns around, greeted by Thorin’s stoic face. She doesn’t even get a chance to thank him as he quickly moves off into his own.

Bard instructs them to keep their heads low so Gailien sinks into the barrel, tucking her knees to her chest. There is no hole in her barrel – one of the lucky ones not to be pierced by an arrow – so she cannot see what is going on around them, only feeling the gentle sway of the water. She prays that Bard’s plan is more solid than it currently seems, but he does not strike her as a foolish man.


	42. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: The Day of Not Feeling So Nice

The boat – from what she can tell – has come to a stop near the port and her concerns begin to grow. All somebody needs to do is lean over the edge and they would almost certainly see the heads of the Dwarves.

The company begin to mumble but Dwalin hushes them. “Ssh. What’s he doing?”

Bilbo, who has a hole in the side of his barrel, peeks out through it. He spies on Bard who has left his barge, talking to a man on the dock. “He’s talking to someone,” he announces. Then Barge gestures to the Dwarves. “He’s pointing right at us. Now they’re shaking hands.”

“What?” Thorin gasps.

“He’s selling us out,” Dwalin accuses.

“Or bribing somebody,” Gailien counters in the man’s defence. Bard returns, his footsteps heard by the company. Just as Dwalin is about to give the man a piece of his mind, the company – to their utter shock – suddenly have hundreds of fish being poured over them. Gailien’s mouth hangs open, her jaw tucked in as the fish slap against her head, legs, and back. But it quickly shut as the taste from the smell is overbearing on her enhanced senses. All the light she had is now gone and she doesn’t dare move, hating every second that the fish rub against her skin.

It is going to take forever to get that stench out of her nose. The only thing that makes this situation a little more so tolerable, is her vivid imagination of what she can assume the other Dwarves’ faces are. A king being covered in fish, Dwalin with smoke nearly pouring from his ears, Bilbo likely also thinking about the stench staining their skin.

“Quiet,” Bard orders as the Dwarves grumble in protest. “We’re approaching the toll gate.”

The barge slows down once more and Gailien resists the instinct to push away the fish so she can hear what is going on outside. “Halt!” a new voice commands. “Goods inspection. Papers please! Oh, it’s you, Bard!”

“Morning, Percy,” bard greets.

“Anything to declare?”

“Nothing. But I am cold and tired, and ready for home.”

“You and me both.” There is a shuffling of paper before the man called Percy continues. “There we are, all in order.”

“Not so fast,” another new – almost nasally voice. Outside the barrels, Alfrid, the master’s deputy comes stalking out of the shadows. He snatches the paper from Percy. “Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm. Only they’re not empty. Are they Bard? If I recall correctly, you’re licensed as a bargeman. Not –“ he takes a fish off one of the barrels, revealing the eye of Bombur “-a fisherman.”

“That’s none of your business,” Bard snarls.

“Wrong. It’s the Master’s business, which makes it my business.”

“Oh, come on, Alfrid, have a heat, people need to eat.”

“These fish are illegal.” He tosses the fish back into the water then turns to one of his henchmen. “Empty the barrels over the side.” Gailien’s eyes widen as four pairs of footsteps come onto the barge. Two stop right next to hers, causing her stomach to drop. Then she begins to tip backwards along with the barrel. She pushes her arms out as much as she can against the sides to hold herself in place as another barrel next to her is also being tipped while Bard argues with Alfrid.

The next thing she bothers to hear is Alfrid commanding the henchmen to stop as she is already beginning to slide head-first out of the barrel. The barrel flops back into an upright position, the top layer of fish already disappeared but she cannot see any light yet.

“Ever the people’s champion, hey, Bard? Protector of the common folk. You might have their favour now, bargeman, but it won’t last,” Alfrid taunts.

“Raise the gate!” Percy commands and there is the sound of heavy metal moving as the gate is lifted out of the water, allowing the barge and its contents to continue sailing through.

“The Master has his eye on you,” Alfrid continues to warn. “You’ll do well to remember, we know where you live.”

“It’s a small town, Alfrid. Everyone knows where everyone lives.”

The continue to stay hidden amongst the fish-filled barrels as Bard guides the barge through the water roads. Water, Lake-towns form of defence, seems to be centred around everything. It is what they eat, their jobs, their defence and their entire culture.

It feels almost lonely being trapped inside the barrel, not hearing the sounds of the Dwarves as they stay silent. Not being able to see them is harder. Her lungs crave for the fresh air and she holds back her throat’s itch to cough out the fumes accumulating inside them.

Bard pulls his barge into the docking area, scanning the area for any of the Master’s or Alfrid’s men. There are a few who are suspicious-looking persons who rattle his already on edge nerves. Nevertheless, he walks to the closest barrel, kicking it over. The fish fall out, scattering along the deck, followed by Nori. Bard moves onto the next, kicking out the next Dwarf.

Again, he moves to a third but before he can, Dwalin rises with a hot glare. “Get your hands off me.” Bard retreats as the rest of the Dwarves also start lifting themselves out of the barrels. Gailien pushes her hands up, creating a path for her head to follow. She breaks through, feeling the trails of fish slime still on her, along with a few scales and whatever else has come off of her.

This has been a horrible day.

As the Dwarves climb onto solid ground, Gailien has to take a moment to calm her nose which is overwhelmed at the stench of the group. “Never again,” she mutters to Bofur who is trying to wipe his moustache clean.

“I hear ya’ lass,” he replies, giving her a tired expression.

Bard gestures for them to stay low (to which Gailien rolls her eyes at because they are already, quite low) and follow him. “Follow me.”

In a single (and a little conspicuous) file, the Dwarves and their two accomplices follow Bard’s lead through the Lake-town roads. It is a pleasant town in her opinion, not even when she visited it before.

“What is this place?” Bilbo questions under his breath.

“This, Mr Baggins, is the world of Men,” Thorin answers. It has just occurred to her that Bilbo has probably never been in a realm of Men before. They have only been into Elven kingdoms as well as the Goblins and Beorn’s.

“Keep your head’s down, keep moving,” Bard orders as they round another corner. He guides the Dwarves through a crowd.

“How much lower does he want us to go,” Gailien mutters, only heard by Bilbo and Thorin.

They try to sneak through a market area, stalls tall enough to almost cover their height but one guard spots them. “Halt!”

Realising that they have been caught, Thorin starts hurrying the company. “Come on, move,” he growls lowly. He ushers Bilbo forward, then Gailien before moving forward himself.

The guard continues to come forward. “In the name of the Master of Lake-town, I said halt. Halt!” The Dwarves pick up their pace, more worried about getting away than being subtle as they follow Thorin’s lead. The run along a wharf but the guard has taken another route, blocking them off. “Halt! Stop them!”

Thorin halts suddenly, and Gailien who is behind him barely manages to stop in time, her hands moving forward and pushing on his back to stop herself from tipping him over but Dwalin is behind her and does not give her the same grace. She is thrown forward, Dwalin’s chest against her back but fortunately, Thorin is already holding his ground, leaning back and stops both their weights. Gailien grunts, being caught between the two as her chest is squeezed but there is no time to complain to the warrior Dwarf as Thorin begins pushing her back the way they came. 

They scramble back into the market space and with unplanned precision, one of the Dwarves crouches on the ground as the guard runs around to catch them, he is met with a metal pot in the face. The guard stumbles backwards, tripping over the crouched Dwarf. Another guard arrives but Gailien leans against Dwalin’s back, their elbows linking and with his anchor, uses both her legs to kick the guard into one of the thick wooden posts, either knocking him out or rendering him down for the moment.

Bard catches up with the Dwarves, watching as they handle themselves.

Balin uses a paddle to smack against one’s stomach and as they bend over in pain, Thorin uses something heavy to smash against his head. The brother’s make use of a rope, tripping a guard as he rushes in who is then promptly completely knocked out by Gailien’s punch to the face. 

Soon, all of the guards that were nearby now lay unconscious on the floor. The Dwarves take action again, pulling the guards out of sight, behind crates and stalls. The people it seems, are not truly upset or overly bothered that their supposed protection now lays useless, though they do crowd around the area.

Someone of importance must be arriving, Gailien realises as she hides in the shadows, as the crowd quickly disperses, going back to whatever they spend their days doing. Raga, one of the guard’s leaders arrives, accompanied by more guards.

“What’s going on here? Stay where you are. Nobody leaves,” he commands. The Dwarves ready themselves, tightening their grips on their ores, pipes. Gailien sits against a crate next to Fili. She looks past him to Kili (being subtle for his sake) but he is still handling himself.

“Braga,” Bard greets.

“Sorry?”

“You.”

“What are you up to, Bard?”

“Me? Nothing. I’m looking for nothing.” One of the townsfolk moves her elbow along a counter-top, knocking off the pot plant as one of the guards begin to arouse. The pot plant breaks against his head, knocking him back out. Braga peers at the woman but she doesn’t give any sign of guilt. Not satisfied, Braga brushes past Bard and into the market area but the townsfolk really do not seem to like the guards as the quickly cover them from sight y using baskets and plants.

“Hey, Braga,” Bard calls, taking the guard’s attention once more. He holds up a cotton corset type cloth. “Your wife would look lovely in this.”

“What do you know of my wife?” Braga questions.

“I know her as well as any man in this town,” Bard answers simply. Now infuriated, Braga snatches the clothing article from Bard’s hand, throwing it back onto the stall. Once Braga and his guards have well left, Bard returns. “Come,” he urges, ushering the Dwarves back onto the path.

At least they don’t have to worry much about the townsfolk, she thinks. Gailien ends up near the front again with Bilbo, keeping a watchful eye for any more guards that may appear but the Dwarves seem to have both summoned and knock out any present in this part of town.

A young boy (but still taller than the entire company) jogs out of another path, running up to Bard. “Da, our house!” he hisses. “It’s being watched.” The young boy looks past his father, eyes widening as he sees the line of Dwarves. He resembles his father – the same hair and face but Gailien realises that he must have his mother’s eyes. As the boy’s eyes land on her, she timidly raises her hand, giving him a slight wave and smile – the Dwarves must look a little threatening. The boy slowly raises his own hand and with wide eyes, gives her also a small wave while Bard scans the area, looking for the next option.

Bard changes their direction, now with his son following them as well and the company take more backstreets, stopping every now and then until anybody Bard suspects as a spy either passes on, or he changes their course.

The Dwarves congregate around the back of a house, the wall on one side, the water on their other. Bard begins explaining what he wants them to do. “You want us to what?” Dwalin exclaims, quickly hushed by Thorin. Bard grits his teeth.

“It’s the only way into the house that’s not being watched,” he presses. “The Master has spies all over the town.”

Gailien looks down to the water, mournfully noting the small ice caps floating around. Cold, wet, and still hungry. Not to mention she isn’t dressed for the cooler months, her cloak and jacket lost. Her arms shiver just thinking about jumping in. “Come on,” she growls. “What choice do we have?”

Bard nods, leaning back around the corner of the building. “Wait underneath until I give you the signal.” Then, with his hand on Bain’s (his son) back, Bard and his son straighten themselves, walking around the corner back onto the main path.

Gailien walks to the edge of the barge along with a few of the other Dwarves. Dwalin walks up next to her, scowling as he looks at the water. Gailien rolls her eyes and her hand rests on Dwalin’s shoulder, giving it a forceful shove. Dwalin yelps in surprise as his body falls into the icy water. He splutters, his arms creating waves as he keeps himself afloat. He’s been mighty rude these last few days and Gailien won’t lie in saying that she got pleasure from doing so.

Dwalin growls at her as she stands on the edge of the dock. “I will murder you in your sleep,” he warns. Rolling her eyes again, Gailien sits down on the edge, turns herself around and lowers into the water. The iciness sends harsh goosebumps over her skin. The others begin jumping into the water as well, creating much larger splashes than her. She eyes off Kili, but he manages with his leg to stay afloat easy. She also watches Bilbo, not sure if he can swim but the Hobbit, albeit reluctantly, joins them in the water.

Feet and hands knock against each other as they use their limbs to stay afloat, directing themselves underneath the wharf as the building rest on lifted structures. Following Bard’s instruction, they swim a few buildings over, having to duck their heads into the water to swim under a few structures.

It’s disgusting and Gailien struggles to determine whether this is worse or not than the fish. There is no telling what their bodies are brushing against, and knowing exactly where they are heading to, it isn’t anything pleasant.

They make into underneath Bard’s house and the ground underneath them rises until they can stand, the water rising to their chests. They circle underneath it, waiting for the signal. The entire company looks as miserable as they feel but she knows that Bard’s house must have a fireplace at that is the only thing she can bring herself to think about. Her teeth begin to chatter, knocking against each other loudly. She hugs her arms, trying to keep her warmth as she knows how obnoxious the sound can be.

“We’ll be out of here soon,” Thorin whispers from her side. When he got there, she’ll never know. Gailien nods, looking up to the hole in Bard’s floor as they wait for their signal. Her heart stops for a moment as two large hands rest on either of her upper arms. She glances down at the hands and as odd as it is, even to herself, she knows exactly whose hands they are. His chest presses against her back and his hands begin moving up and down. Every muscle in her body aches for her to just lean back and she does, ever so slightly to let him know that his offer of comfort is welcomed.

Her chest aches with how hard her heart is beating – to both keep her blood pumping against the cold, and the body behind her. Though her arms are mostly underwater, she lets her left drift backwards, not sure where exactly it is search but her fingers come into contact with fabric and softly, she presses her hand more in its direction, finding solid skin.

Then from above them, there is a loud knock against the wood of Bard’ bathroom.


	43. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: The Weapons of Lake-town

Dwalin is the first the be sent up, Bombur and Gloin pushing him up into the toilet. He sends a threat to Bain, clambering out. They send Bilbo up next who looks just about ready to curl up in a ball. The hands are still on Gailien’s arms, as the pair slowly move closer to the hole, watching as the next few Dwarves are pushed out of the water.

It is her turn next, situating herself underneath it, Bain’s head just poking into sight. Thorin’s hands trail down her arms as he lowers himself. Bofur comes to her other side, kneeling down so his chin just breaks the water surface. Though Bofur’s hands just clasp in the water, ready the catch her foot, Thorin takes his time, letting his fingers trail along the side of her leg before wrapping around them, interlocking his own fingers in front so the back of her leg can balance against his shoulder.

She places her own on their shoulders, stepping into the ready hands. Together, they lift her higher out of the water. Letting the hand on Bofur go, she reaches up to grab the side of the wooden toilet to steady herself. She glances down, (an unnecessary movement since all she needs to do is bring her other hand up) meeting Thorin’s eyes who stare up at her, his chin resting against her outer thigh. Forcing her thoughts away, she quickly lifts the hand from his shoulder, letting it rise to the edge of the wood by her neck.

With a mix of her own strength, the Dwarves assisting her and Bain’s assistance, she heaves herself out of the toilet and onto Bard’s floor. She grins at the young boy. “Thank you.” He nods shyly, waiting for the next Dwarf.

Gailien wanders up through the house into the main area where the Dwarves huddle around a fire. There are two people that Gailien doesn’t recognise. Two girls, one older than Bain and the other much younger. Bard’s two girls. Gailien barely reaches the height of the youngest.

The older walks over to Gailien holding out a thick blanket. “Oh,” Gailien says. “Thank you.” She takes the material. It is nowhere as near as soft as Elven blankets, but it is thick, and no doubt made for warmth. Unfolding it, she wraps it around her shoulders as the next Dwarves start piling into the room behind her.

Gailien glances around, trying to find the source of warmth and almost cries as she sees a fire lit. Scampering over, she joins Bilbo in standing in front of it. “I thought my bones were beginning to freeze,” she muses to the Hobbit.

“Who would ever choose to live in this place?” Bilbo questions lowly, being sure that their host doesn’t hear his insult.

“People who don’t have the choice,” Gailien points out, rubbing her hands together. As the rest of the Dwarves finally arrive, Gailien leaves the fire to join the brothers who stand near the large seating area. “Not frozen yet?” she teases, giving Kili a subtle visual check.

“I think my feet are,” Fili replies.

“Are my lips blue?” Kili asks, looking between them with seriousness. “They feel blue.” Though his skin is pale, his lips are in fact, not blue. Gailien chuckles softly.

“Do you want another blanket, dilthen er?” she asks, half teasing, half-serious. “There’s a fire, come sit closer.” The brothers follow her advice, moving closer to the hearth. As though to test her boundaries, she extends her arm, letting her hands rest against Kili’s back. He did not want her to baby him, but surely he would not see her offer of comfort as that? She rubs his back softly, watching for any negative emotion to glimmer in his eyes but there is only a placid relaxation as he watches the fire.

“They may not be the best fit, but they’ll keep you warm,” Bard says as his daughters begin handing out some clothes. Tilda, the youngest, hands Gailien some clothes. Gailien takes them with thanks, about to go back to her thoughts but notices the shy gaze the girl has as Fili and Kili have not yet noticed her. She nudges the brothers with her foot, gesturing to the girl with her eyes.

The brothers give Tilda a gentle smile and thanks as she did, allowing the youngest to continue on to the others.

Thorin has sauntered up to the window, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looks out, taking notice of the ballista on the tall tower. “The Dwarvish Wind-Lance,” he whispers to himself.

Bilbo joins Thorin at the window, taking note of the solemn expression on Thorin’s face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“He has,” Balin says, also joining the pair. “The last time we saw such a weapon the city was on fire. It was a day the dragon came. The day that Smaug destroyed Dale.” Wanting to see it for herself, Gailien leaves the brothers by the fire, grazing across the room until the joins the smaller group. There on the tall tower is a large wind-lance, fit for large arrows that are meant for more than simple soldiers. “Girion, the lord of the city, rallied his bowmen to fire upon the beast. But a dragon’s hide is tough, tougher than the strongest armour. Only a Black Arrow fired from a wind-lance could have pierced the dragon’s hide, and few of those arrows were ever made. The store was running low when Girion made his last stand.”

“If the aim of men had been true that day, much would’ve been different,” Thorin states.

“You speak as if you were there,” Bard notes.

“All Dwarves know the tale,” Thorin answers without missing a beat.

Bard’s son comes from behind his father. “Then you would know that Girion hit the dragon. He loosened his scale under the left-wing, one more shot and he would’ve killed the beast.”

A weakness? Gailien frowns, looking back out to the wind-lance. If Smaug is to awaken, then there only chance would be to source these Black Arrows. Dwalin however, doesn’t believe such rumour. “That’s a fairy story, lad. Nothing more.”

Gailien hasn’t been able to see much since Mirkwood; something that she finds happens when the future is so yet unclear and undecided that there is no vision to show her. It is frustrating not being able to see much but once the company start making decisions, she should be able to follow their paths.

“You took our money,” Thorin begins, walking closer to Bard. “Where are the weapons?”

“Wait here.”

Bard leaves them, his children going back to tending the house. Gailien crosses her arms, leaning against the wall as Thorin returns to his spot across from her. “We still have nearly three weeks,” she says. “That is plenty of time to reach the mountain but there is no use going too early. We should stay here for a while – eat, sleep, heal.”

“We can’t risk missing Durin’s Day,” Thorin argues.

“And we’ll travel faster if we are at full health,” she adds to her own point. “I’m not saying we should leave at last minute, but we shouldn’t pass up the opportunity to recover. We haven’t had that since Beorn’s which was over a month ago.”

“I say we leave today,” Balin protests. “We risk everything staying here longer. We can recovery once we reach the mountain.” Gailien doesn’t say it for aloud, but she isn’t sure that the one she knows needs the most recovery will be able to reach the mountain.

“Let’s just…see what happens,” Thorin decides. Bard returns which a wet sheet and he pours its contents onto the table in the middle of the room. Out of it come a handful of measly looking weapons. And they barely even earn that title. But they are better than nothing. Thorin picks up a harpoon looking weapon. “What is this?”

“Pike hook,” Bard answers. “Made from an old harpoon.”

“And this?” Kili asks, holding a large hammer type tool.

“A crow bill, we call it. Fashioned from a smithy’s hammer. It’s heavy in hand, I grant. But in defence of your life, these will serve you better than none.”

The Dwarves become outraged by the lack of proper weaponry. Gailien holds back her own opinion, hating the idea of insulting their host. These people don’t look like they have much to give in the first place.

“We paid for weapons,” Gloin glowers. “Iron forged, swords and axes!”

“It’s a joke!” Bofur cries.

The Dwarves begin to toss the weapons back onto the table in protest. “You won’t find better outside the city armoury. All iron forged weapons are held there under lock and key.” Thorin and Dwalin share a knowing glance and even Gailien’s chin moves closer to her shoulder in thought.

“Thorin, why not take what’s on offer and go,” Balin argues. “I’ve made do with less, so have you. I say we leave now.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bard counters.

“What did you say?” Dwalin growls.

“There are spies watching this house and probably every dock and wharf in the town. We must wait till nightfall.”

Reluctantly, the Dwarves leave the table, finding spots around the lower level of the house to continue drying and warming themselves. Kili sits back down, barely holding back his pained expression. Not being able to let him sit there in pain, Gailien marches over to him, sitting by his side. Her hands reach out, intending to inspect the wound for infection when Kili’s hand slaps her away.

“Kili,” she chides. “Someone needs to look at it. Let me.”

“I told you before, I’m fine.”

Gailien doesn’t know what she should be feeling – guilt, anger, concern. She can’t do anything if he won’t let her. Huffily, she stands back up and marches away, brushing against Fili. Instead, she joins Dwalin and Thorin as they discuss something in a corner together. They quieten as she arrives.

“Let me guess,” she says quietly, walking between them both to lean against the wall, “making a plan to get to the armoury.”

Dwalin glares at her. “You’re not going to tell that new buddy of yours are ya? Since you seem to be always speaking in his defence.”

“Only because you continue to insult him,” she shoots back. “He’s helped us, and you treat him the same as you would Thranduil.” Dwalin grumbles something incomprehensible as Thorin allows her to bite at the warrior Dwarf. “Personally, I don’t think we should leave until nightfall to do so, but I know that you won’t listen so I’m left with no other choice but to help you lot not get caught.”

“You sound like we’re a burden,” Thorin says, a mirthful hint playing in his tone. Gailien rolls her eyes.

“More like a bunch of children some days,” she fixes. “But unfortunately, a bunch of children that I care a lot about.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Dwalin retorts, though he speaks with a lighter tone to show that he jests. Gailien smirks, jutting her elbow into his side. “I say we go now that he’s gone.”

“I agree,” Thorin states, his elbow resting on a crossed arm and his chin between his fingers. “But how are we going to get into the armoury?”

“These buildings don’t exactly look like they have the best security,” Gailien notes. “Obviously we don’t go through the front door, but I don’t doubt that there will be another way in.”

“Little miss observant, are we?” Thorin teases.

“Only because you’re Lord Oblivious,” she counters. “You have terrible eyesight. I’m surprised you haven’t run into a tree yet. Actually, it makes sense why you mistook me for one of those trolls so long ago.”

Thorin nods in faux thought. “Indeed, it is an uncanny resemblance.”

Gailien opens her mouth to continue their banter but Dwalin hisses at them. “Oh, stop with whatever this is! We had a point we were discussing.” Gailien snorts under her breathe but does bring herself back into a solemn state of mind. “How are we going to get past his spawns?”

“They’re children,” Thorin shrugs. “We walk out, what can they do?”

“Warn Bard,” she points out. “But I suppose we’ll be gone by that time anyway. But we’re going to have to find the armoury as well. We’ll need to be more cautious than we were getting here.”

“I’m not getting back in that forsaken water,” Dwalin protests.

“No,” Thorin agrees. “But we need to travel in smaller groups. Spread out until we find it, then we can figure out how to get in.”

“Nightfall is coming,” Gailien notes. “We should leave soon unless we want to be looking for it in the dark.”


	44. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: The Real Weapons of Lake-town

And nightfall comes. But they have found the armoury. As thought, getting out of Bard’s house was easy enough – even if she does feel a little bad about it. The company scoured the town, keeping well hidden from the guards and they start making their plan with the armoury now in sight. Half the Dwarves (plus Bilbo and Gailien) are to make their way into the armoury using the remaining Dwarves as leverage. Their opening is on the secondary story, through an unblocked window which faces one of the backstreets.

“I apologise in advance for your back,” Gailien mutters to Fili as Dwain and Thorin make sure the coast is clear. Fili huffs in agreement.

“At least they’re not sending Bombur up.” Fili sighs. “Look, I just want to say sorry for Kili. He's being a git. I have an inkling why but...”

“Don’t apologise,” Gailien replies, keeping her head forward, not wanting Fili to know how much it has been on her mind. “He’s upset. I just don’t understand why he’s taking it out on me specifically. I just hope whatever it is, doesn’t last.”

“I’m not sure either.”

“Shh. Keep it down,” Dwalin hushes the company. Fili and the rest of the first half of Dwarves are sent forward, lining up along the ground, creating a series of Dwarf-steps to the window. Gailien walks forward, preparing herself. Quick. Nimble. Lithe. A mantra that runs through her mind, feeling a little bad for being about to run across their backs but she doubts that she’ll be the one to cause the most strain at least.

“Go, go, go,” Thorin ushers Nori. The first Dwarf of the second half runs forward. He jumps onto the first Dwarf’s back then to the next. They grunt under his weight, but the formation stays stable. “Next.”

Bilbo is the next in line and follows Nori’s steps, jumping up the Dwarf formation and leaps through the open window. Gailien takes a step forward, next in line. Thorin’s hand rests on her back, waiting for Bilbo to clear. Gailien bounces her step as Bilbo moves away.

“Go,” Thorin whispers, pushing her back slightly. Gailien runs with a light-foot, stepping onto the first Dwarf, then leaping onto the next couple and then finally onto Fili’s shoulder who is standing under the window. He grunts a little under her weight, but she doesn’t have time to apologise again as she bends over the window ledge, letting herself roll in.

The armoury is dark but the light from the stars and moon is enough to let them see clearly. Nori, Bilbo and Gailien wait for the rest of the second half to arrive, the rest waiting down below. With Thorin as the last to come, they begin to pile their weapons stock.

There is no time for pickiness – though she would have liked to find something resembling her twin blades – and every weapon that can be carried is. Gailien begins loading Bofur’s awaiting arms with swords, axes, spear-looking weapons – anything they can get their hands on.

Gailien glances around, beginning to look around to carry some herself but she double-takes Kili whose arms are being loaded up by Thorin. Confliction runs through her, but Thorin has not forgotten his sister son's injury.

“You alright?” Thorin questions.

“I can manage,” Kili says as Thorin loads a final sword into his arm. “Let’s just get out of here.” Kili heads to the stairwell and Gailien continues loading her own arms but the young Dwarf cries out in pain moments later. His leg gives way on one of the steps, followed by the weapons tumbling out of his arms, clanging against each other and the wood.

There is no way that nobody heard that noise. Gailien drops her own, knowing their secrecy is gone and sprints to the stairwell. “Kili,” she cries. Kili lies in the middle where the stairs change directions, the weapons on the floor at the bottom. She drops to a crouch but doesn’t have any time to help him as two guards arrive. One holds a blade to Kili’s neck, and the other points his sword at her chest. Her hands slowly raise, showing her unarmed state.

Thorin glances down to the lower level as Kili shamefully looks at his uncle. He’s going to be blaming himself now, she thinks. In a way, she is angry that Kili is refusing help and ignoring the wound – which is what led to this happening, but she would never say that out loud, let alone to Kili. There are times to keep your thoughts to yourself, and this is one of them.

The guard drops his sword, reaching forward and grabs the back of her neck like she is a dog. Gailien and Kili are dragged to their feet, and with no lack of force, are pushed out of the armoury, the weapons now forgotten. They are pushed back outside, and to her dismay, the company that was outside is now too be handled like a pack of wild animals.

The other guards bring out the rest of the company from upstairs, each Dwarf growling and snarling, but Thorin, to his credit, keeps his demeanour collected. Dwalin is causing the biggest fuss, yelling insults, and constantly fighting against his captor. Bilbo looks more terrified than anything.

It is like being captured by the Elves once more as they are led through the town that is no less alive than through the day. The guards continuously shove them forward, even when they are not resisting and Gailien fights back the urge to swing her elbow back into her guard’s leg.

The people of the town begin to rally around them, large torches lit, and snow softly falls. The crowd start talking loudly, asking what has happened, throwing their own insults to the Dwarves or just plain curious. They are led by Braga into the small square before the town hall.

Alfrid pokes his head out of the door as the Dwarves are pushed into the centre, the guards forming a wall behind them. The door closes, then reopens, the Master adjusting his large winter coat as he storms out.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Caught ‘em stealing weapons, Sire,” Braga growls with pleasure.

“Ah! Enemies of the state, huh?”

“A desperate bunch of mercenaries, if ever there was, Sire,” Alfrid drawls, his neck hunched forward as usual.

“Hold your tongue!” Dwalin exclaims. He steps forward in front of the company. “You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal. This is Thorin. Son of Thrain, son of Thror!” He steps closer to Thorin, gesturing out to him. Balin steps aside as Thorin stands forward with Dwalin.

“We are the Dwarves of Erebor. We have come to reclaim our homeland.” The honey-sweet voice, the voice of a King. Gailien cannot take her eyes off him. The townspeople begin murmuring amongst themselves at the new revelation. Thorin turns to address them. “I remember this town in the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbor, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake. This was the centre of all trade in the north!”

The crowd cheer in agreement and Gailien feels her heart lean out towards him. There are moments through their travels when Thorin seems like anything but a King; the days where his guard is let down and he laughs with the company. But then there are these defining moments where she couldn’t be prouder to place her loyalty in him.

“I would see those days return. I would relight the great forges of the Dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the halls of Erebor!”

The crowd cheers loudly, being stuck in the cycle of poverty their entire lives – only knowing stories of the wealth that once ruled this land. Thorin Oakenshield is a name that reminds them of these tales, reminds them of a time they never knew but long to have.

“Dragonfire and ruin,” Bard states, pushing through the crowd. “If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all.”

“You can listen to the naysayer,” Thorin counters, “but I promise you this: if we succeed all will share in the wealth of the mountain.” The crowd begin to once again murmur with delight. Thorin holds his arms out. “You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!” The crowd continues in the cheers until Alfrid starts speaking once more.

“Why should we take you at your word? We know nothing about you. Who here can vouch for your character?” The crowd falls silent as nobody knows what to think. Thorin bows his head slightly. Nobody will take the Dwarves word as they are biased, and Bard certainly will not speak up. Gailien lifts her head as she realises that she can.

She steps forward, preparing her voice to be loud and clear. “I am Gailien, an Elf from the Woodland realm and I can vouch for Thorin Oakenshield.” The entirety of the town looks to her, including Thorin who slowly turns around. “There is no one on this earth that I would rather place my trust in.”

Gailien holds her chin high and her shoulder back, trying to mimic the confidence Thorin has. She figures adding her heritage will do something good since Bard had emphasised the relationship this town has with Mirkwood. Bilbo steps forward as well, though a little more hesitantly. “Me too. We have both travelled far with Thorin and if he gives his word, he will keep it.”

Thorin nods slowly at them with deep appreciation and their audience seem to take their declarations.

“All of you!” Bard cries. “Listen to me, you must listen! Have you forgotten what happened at Dale? Have you forgotten those who died I the firestorm? And for what purpose?” He turns to Thorin with a blazing glare. “The blind ambition of a Mountain King, so riven by greed, he could not see beyond his own desire!”

“Now, now,” the Master settles. “We must not, any of us, be too quick to lay blame. Let us not forget, that it was Girion, Lord of Dale, your ancestor, who failed to kill the beast. Hm!”

Gailien must admit, while the Master does not seem the wisest of what Men have to offer, he knows enough to spin a conversation for his own benefit. It is no wonder he holds his title.

“It’s true, Sire,” Alfrid adds. “We all know the story. Arrow and arrow, he shot. Each one missing its mark.”

Bard curls his lip, stepping close to Thorin. “You have no right. No right to enter that mountain.”

“I have the only right.” Bard doesn’t let his glare drift but Thorin takes control, turning around to the Master. “I speak to the Master of the men of the lake. Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will you share in the great wealth of our people?” The Master hesitates. “What say you?”

“I say unto you…welcome!”

The crowd cheer and the Dwarves (and company) are no longer captives, instead, being celebrated by the people. People walk up to Thorin, thanking and celebrating his name. Thorin smiles kindly at them, nodding his head. Bofur is the most content Dwarf of the situation, a large grin on his face as he starts talking loudly to anybody who will listen of his own (dramatic) adventures with the company.

Though this night has pushed Gailien into a solemn train of thought. She does not smile as the rest of the company do. Instead, the skin of her forehead and eyes crease deeply as she steps away from the group. The Lonely Mountain peaks in the distance and inside, a dragon that has lain asleep for sixty years. She always knew that they would be facing Smaug, but she never truly thought much to the context. She didn’t even think about Lake-town before Mirkwood.

What if Bard is right? What if they unleash a monster that they cannot stop? They are thirteen of (neither the brightest nor strongest) Dwarves and a Hobbit and deformed Elf. She has not yet seen the events of them reaching the mountain and she isn’t sure if she wants to. What would she do if she sees destruction? What could she do?

There is the Dwarvish wind-lance and the Black Arrows, but she has no idea if any even exist anymore. Even if they do not wake it in the coming days, but when they have an army by their side – there is still going to be death.

But the prophecy she made, many months ago – the one filled with the growing power of Mordor. If that is to become truth, then there is a possibility that evil will seek out the power of the dragon. Gailien starts to believe that is Gandalf’s reason all along. That Thorin is a means to an end. Not that Gandalf doesn’t care about them, but that when the opportunity arose, he’s taken it. They are a corner of a painting.

“Are you alright?” Gailien nearly jumps from her skin as Bilbo appears at her side. “You not joining in on the festivities and I know you’re one for a joyous atmosphere.”

“I am fine, thank you for your concern, Bilbo.” Her gaze flickers between the mountain and the Hobbit. “Just lost in thought about something. I’ll come over now.”

Gailien turns, following Bilbo back to the company, but not without giving the mountain one last worried gaze.


	45. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Laundry and Starlight

The Master spares no luxury for the company (even if it is just for public appearance and the promise of profit). They are given an empty house to stay in, near the town hall. It is two stories as most are. It is more luxurious than Bard’s but not any larger in scale. There are many seats on the lower floor, making up the common area and upstairs are several cots. It is obvious that they do not originally belong in the rooms as they are cramped together, spread through three bedrooms, but cots are better than the floor.

Their clothes are replaced with much finer ones. Though Gailien keeps her own pants (after a good wash), she welcomes the new, fresh and nonbattle worn shirt. She still has her weapons holster around her waist, feeling empty without her blades in them but the Master has also promised them weapons.

Though the town seems to be struggling, there is no food storage in their guest house. Their pile is stocked high with a promise to be refilled if it ever gets low. And with the eyes that Bombur gave it, she doesn’t doubt that they will need to.

The first day is spent with the entire group lazing around the house, eating and sleeping to their hearts’ contents. Though Thorin had originally wanted them to leave for the mountain so they had plenty of time, Gailien’s points had proven to be right. They did need rest before they set out again. Even Thorin finds himself sleeping for a good portion of the day, waking to a hot bowl of meaty soup next to his cot.

The second day Gailien spends the morning taking all the clothes that Bard had lent them and takes them to a washing bay, spending a good two hours alone, scrubbing the material. Fili and Kili offered to come but Gailien politely refused, wanting some time alone to her thoughts.

With a heavy woven basket resting against her hip, Gailien wanders through the town. People give her looks, and she is still surprised to see the delight on their faces as they recognise her. It is something that has never happened to her before – not from strangers and it makes her feel a little giddy.

Gailien arrives at Bard’s house and knocks on the door. Within a few moments, Sigrid opens the door. Her expression morphs from shock to unsettled, looking over her shoulder to her brother. Their father mustn’t be there.

“I’ve only come to return your belongings,” Gailien says as softly as she can. “They’re clean but still a little damp I’m afraid.”

“Oh, umm, thank you,” Sigrid says, taking the basket from her hands.

“I also wish to apologise on behalf of the Dwarves,” she adds. “We didn’t mean to cause any disruption for you or your town, least of all your father. He may disagree with our quest, but I will certainly never forget that he definitely saved our hides.”

“Are you going to try and kill the dragon then?” Bard questions over his sister’s shoulder. “Da says it’s a suicide quest.”

Gailien hesitates in answering, swapping the weight of her feet. “I’m not…entirely sure what is going to happen. But I will do all I can to make sure that your family stays safe.” A promise she is not sure she can keep, but they are children. “We are being showered with too many things. If there is anything you need that we have, just ask for me and I’ll see what I can do. Food, clothes, sheets.”

“Thank you,” Sigrid says with true appreciation. Tilda, the youngest of the three joins the older two siblings by the front door. She looks at Gailien with unfiltered fascination.

“You have pointed ears,” she exclaims. “But Dwarves don’t have pointed ears, do they?” She looks up at Sigrid for confirmation. The older sister partially opens her mouth but doesn’t know the answer herself. They’ve never met Dwarves before.

“No, young one, I’m not a Dwarf,” Gailien answers with a soft smile. “Neither is Bilbo, the one with the big feet. He is a Hobbit and I am an Elf.”

“Why are you both travelling with the Dwarves then?” Bain asks, tilting his head. Gailien laughs to herself, amused at all their questions. She has no problem answering since their quest is no longer a secret.

“I have a special gift that has been able to help us get through some of the dangers on our path. Bilbo is here for another reason.”

“What type of dangers?” Tilda pesters with wide eyes. “Like wild animals?”

Sigrid places her hand on her sister’s head. “Tilda, it is rude to ask so many questions like this.”

“Oh, truly, I don’t mind,” Gailien assures, giving the family a bright smile. Sigrid looks at Bain, appearing to have a silent conversation and Bain nods his head. Sigrid looks back to Gailien.

“We have just finished making lunch, if you would like to come in and join us. You would have to leave before late afternoon before our father returns but…I think Tilda will burst if she does not know the answers to her questions.”

“I would love to, as long as I’m not a hassle. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your father.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Xx

Gailien spends the early afternoon, eating a warm stew with the three siblings as she recounts the tale of the quest. Tilda gasps loudly as Gailien describes the trolls – tall, ugly, and mean. Even the older two seem enthralled as Gailien describes them being cooked over the campfire, only saved by their burglars’ wits. She leaves out the part with Gandalf, not sure what Bard would think of that if the children let it slip.

Tilda quite visibly is restraining herself from asking questions and when Gailien can tell she is about to burst; she pauses her stories and gives Tilda a knowing smile. She wants to know everything – the Dwarves names, where they come from, if they are going to stay in the mountain. She asks about the Woodland Realm and King Thranduil (which Gailien keeps civil for her sake, since the Woodland Realm is their main source of income and it would do no good for them to have bad thoughts).

To thank them for their hospitality, Gailien takes over the cleaning duties; clearing the table and kitchen as well as cleaning the plates. She promises to not say a word to their father about today if the situation occurs and makes them promise to ask her if they need anything.

“Do you have any chips?” Tilda asks. “We haven’t had chips in forever.”

Gailien tilts her head, thinking back to their food pile. “I believe we do. We have a cook in our company so I can have them made if they are not already prepared. I’ll come around tomorrow around lunchtime and drop them off if you would like.”

Tilda gleams, clasping her hands and Sigrid smiles in adoration of her sister. “Thank you,” she says. “It will be a nice treat.”

Gailien gives them a warm farewell, double-checking for any sign of Bard before she leaves the children to go back to their chores. Tomorrow night Lake-town is throwing a feast in their honour. She isn’t quite sure if they should be celebrating so, not when their quest isn’t complete but if anybody knows the benefits of having high spirits it is her. No doubt Bofur is looking for any excuse to drink. And Fili has not had a good tankard in a while.

She has tried to mediate the previous night but nothing except a couple of flashes of them nearing the mountain were revealed to her. They weren’t even worth mentioning to Thorin, but she did nonetheless, so he didn’t think she was slacking in her duties. 

Gailien pushes the front door to their temporary home open, greeted by the sight of the Dwarves still lazing around, a fire already going. There is the faint smell of lunch still in the air, but it looks like it is long gone from the empty bowls lying about.

“I see we’ve all had a productive day,” Gailien muses cheerfully as she pulls off her heavier cloak.

Bofur raises his hand from where he lies across a long chair meant for three. “That…we have lass.” Gailien rolls her eyes but the smile doesn’t drop. Kili and Fili are over in a corner together with two drinks. Her feet make move to go join them but someone else stands in her way.

Gailien nearly bumps into Thorin who faces her, his shoulders set back. “Where were you?” he asks gruffly.

“I told you earlier, I washed the clothes we borrowed and returned them,” Gailien answers with a slight frown.

“That was hours ago,” Thorin counters. “I doubt it takes that long.”

Gailien shifts the weight on her feet, raising an eyebrow challengingly. She doesn’t quite know why Thorin is suddenly overly interested in her whereabouts – they certainly don’t have anywhere else to be currently. “I decided to stay out for longer.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever I felt like,” she quips with a slightly snarky tone. “Why is it such an issue?”

Her arms cross over her chest defensively almost daring Thorin to question her further. Why on earth is he questioning her so much? It isn’t like she has a habit of disappearing or lying about her whereabouts. In fact, she would have told him the exact truth if he hadn’t come across so stark.

Thorin’s shoulders drop and he glances around the room – no doubt there are a few eyes on them. “I just didn’t know where you were. I was worried.”

Gailien defences drop slightly, though his reaction is still not warranted. She notes a few Dwarves are not here either. “Gossip spreads fast in this town. If something happened to me, you’d probably hear about it before I do,” she jests, letting her arms loosen in their fold.

Thorin nods, managing a small smile. He walks away, sauntering back to wherever he was brooding before. Gailien shares a look with Bofur who has been watching them from his seat. Gailien continues on in her original path, wandering over the two brothers. She pulls up her own seat from the larger table, resting her elbows on the smaller on between them.

“Whatever you had for lunch smells good,” she says, resting her head against her palm.

“Bombur had the time of his life cooking it,” Fili says, smirking. “You would have liked it but Bombur ate all the leftovers.”

“I’m sure,” Gailien agrees.

“So, where did you go off to?” Kili asks, giving her a pointed look. “Somewhere that Thorin wouldn’t approve of?”

“Hardly,” Gailien snorts but then thinks again. “Actually, he probably would have advised against it. Bard’s kids asked me to stay for lunch. The little one had some questions and by some, I mean I honestly have no idea how her brain even thought of them all.” The brothers chuckle, the sound quietened under the loud conversation Gloin, Dwalin, and Oin are having about something trivial. “What’s in Thorin’s socks anyway? Is he just antsy because we’re so close?”

Fili looks over his shoulder to his uncle who is brooding by himself. “He’s actually been more relaxed than anything. The mountain is so close, and we’ve got supplies and a safe place. I think he just doesn’t want anything to go wrong so you not returning probably did set him on edge.”

Gailien nods slowly. “I’ll take note of that. It wasn’t like I was gone all day though.” Kili shifts in his seat and Gailien doesn’t miss the slight wince of pain in his eye as he does so. Gailien breathes out heavily, leaning forward. “This is ridiculous, Kili. Just let us tend to the damn thing.”

Kili clenches his jaw, stretching his knuckles out. “I’ve already checked it. It’s fine.”

“Kil-“

“No.”

His tone is hard and Gailien knows there is no use arguing any further, but it doesn’t make her any less infuriated. She pushes against the table, the legs of her chair grating against the wooden floor. “I’ve had enough of Dwarvish stubbornness for today,” she grunts, sliding out of her seat. A few Dwarves look over at the obnoxious sound, watching silently as Gailien storms back out of the house she only entered minutes ago.

Kili looks to his brother. “She’s mad at me, isn’t she?”

Fili wants to roll his eyes and knock his brother over his head, but he understands his brother’s reasoning. “I think she’s just frustrated. And she’s right.”

“I don’t want her to be. I just…”

“Go talk to her,” Fili instructs. “You’ll regret being annoyed at each other if you don’t.”

Gailien stands outside on their front porch area, leaning against the railing. The sun is low in the sky, but clearly visible now that the fog has cleared away. Still no less cold, but at least the weather is pleasing aesthetically. There are still the remnants of the light snowfall they had from the first night that went through until yesterday morning. It dusts the ground, creating a speckled path of dark stone and white snow.

She hears the door opening and she can recognise his foot pattern anywhere – especially now since it sounds more like her own. Kili walks up next to her, leaning against the railing to match her pose.

He sucks his lips, looking out into the rather bleak town of Lake-town where the people’s festivities continue in anticipation of the feast. “This quest…” He takes another moment to clarify his thoughts and Gailien slowly tilts her head to look at him. “This quest is my chance to prove to Thorin that I’m not a child. That I’m capable and ready.”

“Even warriors get wounded, dilthen er,” Gailien murmurs softly. “It doesn’t mean that you're weak.”

“No but it means I’m a hindrance,” he snaps with no bite – more to himself than her. “If they think that I can’t handle a small arrow wound then I won’t be proving anything.”

Gailien half-turns, letting her side press against the railing instead. “Then let me help you. No - let Oin help you. Nobody here is going to judge you for needing help against a wound. You have no idea how much it hurts me to see you in pain.”

The corner of his lips turn up slightly. “Had no idea you cared so much.”

Gailien scoffs, rolling her eyes and nudges his arm gently. “That’s a lie and you know it.” Her smile drops slowly as the entire reason for her frustration stays at the front of her mind. “You remember the brother that I had?” Kili nods. “My brother…he was exactly like you.” A soft smile of memory pulls at her cheeks. “Reckless, cheeky, but one of the most loving people you could ever meet.” She laughs, turning fully around so her back presses against the railing, her head tilting to the left as she talks to Kili. “It was the need to prove himself that got him killed.”

Kili’s face drops, his eyebrows twitching beneath his subtle fringe.

“I’m not upset or…or frustrated that you want to do these things,” she continues. “I’ll even cheer you on.” That does get a small chortle from the young prince. “But my brother acted just like you are now. We were playing out by the river, the same one we escaped through and he got himself caught in the rapids. I ran ahead and climbed onto one of the fallen tree branches. He was right under me. I held my hand out but he… he purposely ignored it and tried to grab the tree himself. He ignored help when he needed it the most and his fingers barely touched the tree before he was swept underwater.”

Kili blinks, his throat feeling sick as his stomach begins to feel like he has eaten rotten food. He never knew that her reasons were so personal and from experience. “And…you think I’m doing the same thing?” Kili finishes.

Gailien nods silently, her eyes watering but she refuses to let the tears drop. She has already wept enough for the life of her family. “I can’t watch the same thing happen twice. I refuse to. So you better take you ass to Oin or I will knock you out and drag you myself.”

“I will,” he promises. Gailien smiles, truly in relief. She notes that he cocks his right foot, taking the pressure off his leg. She doesn’t want to go back inside just yet, enjoying the breeze of the outside.

“Let’s sit for a while,” she mutters, gesturing to the ground with her head. She walks over to the other side of the porch, plopping herself on the ground, her back up against the wall of the house. Kili readily joins her, taking the space between the wall and fence corner. “I thought that maybe you were blaming me for the arrow – and I wouldn’t blame you!-“

“What?” Kili’s mouth hangs open and he shakes his head quickly. “No, of course not. I really should have listened to you.” He lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head at his own actions. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, squeezing it softly. “But I don’t regret it, it got us out of there.”

“Stupid bravery,” she declares. “But bravery, nonetheless. And maybe a bit of stubbornness. I want to talk about something else. Tell me about what you and Fili were doing before all of this.”

“Well, we just got back from…”

Xx

Kili and Gailien talk amiably into the darkness of the night. Both feel the coldness biting at their skin, but they are enjoying their conversations too much to ruin it by going back inside. Kili entertains her with impressions of particular people they have met along the way and Gailien nearly snorts like a pig at his Elrond impression.

Gailien confidently states that she could do most of the Dwarves well. Kili eggs her on and Gailien sits upright, pulling a long strand of hair over her top lip. “I’m Fili and I carry too many knives to even remember where they all are,” she speaks in a pathetic deep voice. Kili snorts, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was terrible,” he chuckles.

Gailien stays in character. “What do you mean? I’m Fili, trying to learn the art of being majestic from my uncle.”

“I’m trying to do what now?”

Gailien shrieks, dropping the hair from under her nose and Kili barely holds in his cackles. Gailien sheepishly turns her head, finding Fili standing in the doorway, peeking his head out with raised eyebrows.

Her open mouth slowly forms into an innocent grin, teeth on full display. “Did I at least sound like you?”

“Not even close,” Kili answers for him. Gailien shrugs in resignation.

“What are you guys even still doing out here?” Fili questions.

Gailien tilts her head back, looking up to the dark blue sky filled with silver lights. “It’s nice to be under the stars again after Mirkwood. Even before we were caught, we couldn’t see them under the trees.”

Fili looks up as well, silently agreeing with her words. Without another word, he enters backs into the house. Kili and Gailien share a confused look. After a minute or so, Fili returns with a bundle of large blankets. He tosses one onto Gailien then sits down against the railing adjacent to them, minding Kili’s injured outstretched leg and he unravels the other blanket, covering him and his brother. Fili looks up to the silent pair.

“If you don’t mind of course,” he states. Gailien and Kili break from their short moment of being stunted and smile, shaking their heads.

“The more the merrier,” Gailien muses. “But you can only stay if you pay the price.” Her lips play with mirth, leaning forward slightly. Fili leans forward to meet her challenge.

“And what price would this be?”

“You must entertain us. You have to imitate anyone we’ve met.”

Fili chooses to do Gandalf and does such a hilarious performance that Gailien smacks her head against the wall of the house from throwing her head back to hard and fast. “Ow,” she cries through her laughter, her hand cupping the back of her skull. Fili and Kili look concerned for a moment as Gailien holds her head close to her lap but as she pulls it back up, they see the tears of laughter down her cheeks as her shoulders continue to move with the silent sound. “That was so stupid.”

“And loud,” Kili adds. “Sounded like a hammer.”

Once again, the front door opens, and another Durin Dwarf sticks their head out. “What’s going on out here?”

“Gailien’s just smashing her head against the wall,” Fili answers simple. Thorin frowns, utterly perplexed at his nephew’s explanation.

“Why would you ever do that?”

“Not on purpose you troll-head,” she exclaims, still cupping her skull. With her free hand, she gestures to herself. “Feel free to join us. We have blankets.” She holds up her own with a kind smile. Thorin hesitates for a moment but lets the tension of his shoulders drop. He saunters over to the trio, planting himself next to Gailien and she billows out the blanket, letting it settle over the both of them.

He opens his mouth to speak but another voice comes from inside. “What in the world is goin’ on out there?!” Bofur cries. “All four of them have just gone out and not come back.” There is the sound of heavy footsteps and the four outside wait in anticipation as Bofur marches towards the front door. He leans out, looking around before finding them curled up on blankets on the porch. He leans back inside. “Oi! Grab some blankets you lot! We’re cuddling under the stars apparently!”

He marches back inside and Kili is the first to start laughing as none of them even got to explain anything to the toymaker. “I suppose the rest are going to be joining soon then,” Gailien muses in amusement.

The heat begins to accumulate under their blanket from their shared body heat and Gailien is very aware of their touching arms. The rest of the Dwarves and Bilbo begin piling onto the porch, wrapped in blankets and Balin brings out a lit candlestick, lighting the two permanent torches. It coats them in the warm orange glow, providing both light and warmth.

Bofur has brought out his flute and plays a merry tune for them, the Dwarves clapping and singing along as Gailien and Bilbo try to pick up the chorus. Gailien watches Thorin with her mouth open, anticipating the chorus beginning and she tries to join in as it does, watching for Thorin’s confirmation of her using the right words.

By the end of the song she gets most of the lines right and all but screams the last one. She laughs loudly, resting her back against the wall.

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” she says, watching them with adoration.

“Yes, they are.”

Gailien instinctively looks to the person who agrees but finds them not looking at the stars, but at her with a small, but mirthful smirk. Gailien scoffs, shaking her head as she cackles loudly. “That was well done, Fili,” she laughs. “You should remember that one.”

Fili laughs, leaning back with a proud smile. Kili shakes his head to himself. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he mutters, earing fond laughs from Fili and Gailien. Thorin shifts next to her, his leg bending so his knee presses up against hers. Her cheeks flush red so she keeps her gaze down.

“I wish I could see the future sometimes,” Bofur announces, gaining the attention of most of the company. “I just want to see a glimpse, just to know it’s worth fighting for.”

“You know,” Gailien begins, “they say that everybody is given a way to see the future.”

“How’s that?” Ori pipes up. “We don’t get visions like you.”

“No,” Gailien agrees. “But I’ve heard that some people see the future in their dreams. Only on the peaceful nights when their mind is most at rest. Others have incredible instincts that help them choose the right path. Then some believe that the lines on your hands are the map of your life.”

Bilbo looks down at his hands, along with a few other members. “How can the lines on our hands tell us our future?”

“I don’t know the specifics, but some believe that whatever god created you already has your path written into the universe, and they give each creation the ability to peek into their creator’s plan. Some, like me, are given quite an easy gift but others have to seek out this information in other ways.”

“I think mine come through dreams,” Balin confesses. “Sometimes I see things that just don’t quite add up until something while I’m awake happens.”

“Well, how do we know which one we are?” Dori questions, still looking at his hands.

“I think that’s for you to find out.”

After a little more pestering, the Dwarves convince her to share the knowledge she was taught about the lines on their hands. Gailien isn’t really sure if she believes it or not, but considering she can quite literally see the future, anything is possible. The describes the different lines and what they mean.

The Dwarves begin chatting with the people next to them, comparing palms. Thorin, who has been mostly listening suddenly pulls his hands out from under the blanket and lays it on the material between them.

“What does mine say?” he asks. Gailien gives him an exasperated expression.

“Thorin, I really don’t know anything about it,” she says.

“Entertain me.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, seeing who will give up first. Gailien forfeits. She pulls her own hands out from the blanket and shuffles even closer to him, their forearms brushing up against each other. With her left hand, she picks his up, holding it up to her bent knee, palm up. With her right, she begins tracing the lines on his hand, explaining (with a lot of guesswork) what each one meant to him. Thorin listens intently, asking questions as her fingertip traces over his palm.

“This is supposedly the line of fortune,” she says, tracing along a curved indent. “And from what I can tell, you’re going to have a prosperous life.” Thorin chuckles deeply, the sound resonating from his chest.

“That is what I am hoping for,” he says. “Although, I think I trust your visions more than your line reading skill.”

Gailien joins in with his soft laughter, nodding in agreement. “I did tell you I am no good at it.”

“Let me read yours.”

Gailien raises an eyebrow, tilting her head up at Thorin with a questioning expression. However, the chance to have him so focused on her is an unpassable opportunity. So silently, she drops his hand, turning her right over and holds her palm out for him. Thorin takes it, mimicking her previous position.

“So this is the line of your soul?” he asks, tracing along the longest that goes from one side to the other. Gailien hums in affirmative. “And…. I don’t know what it says.” Thorin trails off sheepishly. Gailien laughs good-heartedly, letting her head fall back against the wall behind them. “Don’t laugh,” Thorin grumbles. “It’s just too faint.”

“My life line says I’m going to die!” Bofur cries out, tearing his hand from Bifur to hold it closer to the torchlight. “Right here!”

Gailien shakes her head, letting herself lean more towards Thorin as she looks to Bofur. “Don’t you worry, Bofur. I’m keeping an eye on your future. Besides, the future can change, no matter what may be planned for you.”

The rest of the night is peaceful, reminding her of the nights they spent in their early travels, before even the trolls. Only now she is more a part of their company than ever and there is less restraint over her words and actions. She even consciously leaves the back of her hand resting in Thorin’s palm between their bent knees, his fingertip slowly tracing over the ‘faint’ lines in her palm.


	46. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Under the Moonlight

Gailien sits in the common room of their temporary house, staring at her own palm. They are just lines, created by both years of work and her birth yet some people place so much importance on them. Who would she be without her visions? She certainly would not be here – possibly still back in Mirkwood.

The feast, or banquet – whatever it is, is tonight and Thorin is the guest of honour. She has even been given a dress to wear. It is a child’s make, and nothing fancy but it has been so long since she has had the luxury of wearing such a hindering outfit without consequences that it sits ready on her cot. It is a dark blue, like the colour of her old shirt with lace trimmings around the neck-lining at it pinches at the waist with a matching coloured belt. Even in its simplicity, it looks far too nice for the Lake-town economy. Though the Master has plenty of gold to spare it seems.

Gailien is excited to the feast, not wanting the pleasant days to end but the Master is becoming anxious for their departure, not wanting to spend any more money on them. But last night she had fallen asleep outside as they stayed out, wrapped in their blankets until the latest hours of the day, possibly those of today’s early morning and she had not focused on opening her mind to any visions.

She has still had smaller unplanned ones such as Kili spilling his breakfast on himself. She had definitely debated preventing that from happening and only made her mind up moments before, walking beside him and as the bowl slipped from his fingers, Gailien was already waiting to catch it, sending the younger Dwarf a wink.

Yet still, nothing appeared to her that had any sort of relevance to this quest. 

That midday she had taken the promised chips for Tilda who eye’s brightened lighter than the stars she had seen the previous night. Gailien has never had any experience with younger children, especially human ones so it made her feel proud that she could bring joy to one. Like Kili, the way to her heart was through food.

Her cheeks blush at the memories of the night before, cursing herself for being so…so...child-like. The constant want to be close, craving his touch and having to quite literally control her breathing as his fingers continued tracing her palm, even after they moved their arms back under the blankets when they started to feel too cold.

Most of the Dwarves have taken the day to wander the markets and get out of the house – already feeling couped in the small space. Fili and one or two other Dwarves decided to stay in the house along with Gailien, lounging around. Fili had been given a new arsenal of knives from Lake-town’s armoury. They are nowhere near the craftsmanship of the Elves or the Dwarves, but they would do better than the knives that they use to butter their bread.

Gailien’s legs lay outstretched in front of her as her back leans against the back of the counters for storage. The blonde prince pushes off from the table he leans against, sauntering lazily over to Gailien, joining her on the floor.

“There are much comfier spots to sit you know,” he remarks, adjusting himself to try and get comfortable against the hard and cold wood floor.

“This is the spot my heart desired,” Gailien muses half-heartedly. “But my legs are going numb, I’ll admit.” She also shifts in her seat, drawing her legs underneath her instead, crossed over one another. “Didn’t feel like going to the markets with Kili?”

“Nah,” he shrugs. “My new knives needed sharpening. And I thought you’d like the company after a while.”

“Did I look that bored?”

“Not bored,” Fili confesses slowly. He leans in as though to tell her a secret. “But a little lost.”

Gailien cocks her chin out to the side, stretching her neck. She blinks slowly trying to not to show emotion on her face. “I don’t why you’d think that.”

Fili holds back a roll of his eyes. Out of all the Dwarves, he has been the best at reading her – maybe because he does similar things as her when he feels the same. Even Kili who spends the most time around her doesn’t pick on her slight changes as he does. “You’ve got some things on your mind. And I think I know what some of them are.”

Gailien drops her gaze, looking back to her open palms. “Doesn’t everybody?” she questions, trying to mentally figure out if she does want to talk or not.

“Yes,” Fili agrees. “But you have this little habit of getting stuck in your mind.” He waves his pointer finger up to her temple, causing Gailien to smile, ducking her head out of the way. “I thought age was supposed to make you wise. Sometimes you need to talk about these things to people.”

Gailien nods slowly and reluctantly, ignoring the insult. “I’ve got a few things on my mind at the moment, are you sure you want to hear all of them?”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll listen all day. But my question is before you start – do you want advice or just an ear to talk to?”

Gailien stays silent for the moment. She had never thought that was an option to ask of somebody before. Maybe she would have sought out an ear to talk too long before is she knew that she could ask one or the either. “Advice,” she decides. “I don’t really know what you could say to help but if you do, I would love to hear it.”

“Alright,” Fili says.

Gailien takes a deep breath, her eyes quickly scanning the room for listening ears, but Bifur must still be sleeping their large lunch off and Ori must be outside. “I just…I saw Kili getting shot and I tried to stop it. And I did, but I was so distracted in the fact that I was able to that I didn’t anticipate the second arrow and now... Now nothing has changed, and I feel like not only is it my fault for not being able to prevent it, but that second arrow was aimed at me. And I’m glad that he’s finally talking to Oin but it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.”

Fili smiles tightly, out of sympathy rather than happiness. He reaches out, placing his hand on the back of her shoulder. “I saw how hard you fought to reach him and even you can’t tell every possible future. You can’t be caught up in what did or didn’t happen – nobody can, or everybody would be stuck in their past selves. He’s going to be fine.”

It does make her feel the slightest bit better, but the guilt still lingers. Gailien fears that nothing but time and seeing Kili back in full health will ever alleviate her of that burden.

“What else is on your mind?” Fili prompts, knowing well that that isn’t the only thing behind her eyes. Gailien nearly huffs at Fili, feeling called out but she answers, nonetheless.

“I haven’t been able to see anything to do with the mountain. And it’s killing me not being able to help.”

“I won’t lie, it would be nice to have an idea of what we’re going into,” Fili admits. “But you have done more than your fair share. Don’t force anything but don’t give up. I think you’re overthinking it all and that’s creating some type of block.”

“You’re probably right,” Gailien sighs.

Fili sits there in silence, watching as Gailien twiddles her thumbs in her lap. He waits for her to continue but she doesn’t speak up first. “Don’t make me try to guess, I’m terrible at that.” Gailien doesn’t answer, only briefly flicker her eyes at him. Fili exhales, crossing his arm and his eyes wander the room in thought. “Has it something to do with…Thorin?”

Gailien mumbles the next words out before she can stop them. “Apparently you aren’t that bad.”

Fili shakes his head, laughing softly. “You’re just too easy.” He waits once more for Gailien to say anything, but it seems that he will have to force it out of her – for her own good, of course. “I think you should talk with him.”

Gailien narrows her eyes. “You don’t even know what it’s about,” she states.

Fili purses his lips, tilting his head forward. “I think I do.” He laughs to himself at a memory. “You know, back at the Carrock he pulled me aside and told me that he would give his blessing as a king to our relationship since it would be rather unusual for a Dwarf and Elf to be together.”

Gailien’s mouth falls open as she is caught completely off-guard by his statement. “Our what?”

“Our relationship,” Fili says mockingly, he laughs louder at Gailien’s horrified face. “Don’t worry, I informed him that nothing of the sorts was happening.”

She drops her head in her hands groaning in embarrassment, not having realised what he had assumed but then realises how Fili may be taking her actions. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean that to insult you.”

“Don’t worry,” Fili says, a large smile still on his face. “I understand that you wouldn’t want him assuming such things.” He leans forward again and says in a pointed tone “which is why you should tell him that it is no stranger that has taken your heart. I believe he may have been intending to say something just before Mirkwood.”

Gailien tries to not let her heart cling to the insinuation that Fili is making. Before she can respond, the front door slams open and the Dwarves start filing in, their hands still empty since they have no money, but they looked like they enjoyed their day at least. Or they enjoyed the people rejoicing at their presence rather.

She smiles as Kili sits down on her other side, his leg neatly bandaged. He leans back against the cabinet then leans forward again, shifting in his seat. “This is a terrible spot to sit.”

Gailien laughs, pushing herself up to a stand and holds her hand out for the younger Dwarf. “Come on then, we’ll find somewhere nicer for your royal behind.”

“She knows how to treat us royalty,” Kili jesters to Fili as he takes her offered hand. The three finds spots on the main dining table which starts filling up with some of the other Dwarves as well.

“Anything interesting today?” Gailien asks aloud to the group.

“Interesting? In this town?” Dwalin asks. “Not likely.”

That doesn’t surprise Gailien in the slightest. They are all filled with their eyes on the mountain (and the food that is going to be served tonight) so this provincial settlement probably seems like the Bree of the trip from the Shire to Rivendell.

Thorin, who has not found a seat, walks up behind Gailien’s chair, resting his arms against the back of it. “I believe you found scaring that young boy entertaining at least,” he notes.

Gailien narrows her eyes at the warrior Dwarf as Thorin speaks over her head. “Why are you scaring young boys, Dwalin?” she questions exasperatedly.

Dwalin mumbles something, crossing his arms in defence. “He was looking at me funny.”

“Well, you are not exactly a friendly-looking fellow,’ Gailien counters in good humour.

Xx

With the feast happening that night, Gailien announces that she is going to have a bath. The bathing room is a small room, separate from the bedrooms. It is sectioned off into two parts, a bamboo-like wall through the middle and the metal tub behind it.

Luckily there is a fire going in the hearth and she is able to put two kettles of water over it, so her water is at least not as cold as that underneath the house currently. Squatting in front she holds her hands out, keeping them warm as the water in the kettles slowly heats.

Hearing the slight bubbling of the water, she grins, wrapping the handles of the kettles in a towel so she doesn’t burn herself and pulls them off the hooks.

“Here, let me help you, lass,” Dwalin says, taking one of the kettles from her hand. Gailien narrows her eyes, not taking Dwalin as the helpful type. She catches Thorin’s eye as she and the warrior Dwarf walk past him to the stairs. Thorin also narrows his eyes, pointing them at the Dwarf but doesn’t say anything as they disappear up the stairs.

The bath is already full of water and they pour the hot water in, the steam slowly drifting up, but it will be almost the perfect temperature. For a short while at least.

“Thank you,” Gailien says, slightly still reserved about his seemingly selfless help. It isn’t that she doesn’t like Dwalin – quite the opposite, in fact. But he isn’t such the selfless caring type. Dwalin grins broadly at her.

“Anytime.”

He leaves and Gailien shuts the door. She strips in the first section of the room, hanging her clothes and the towel over wooden hooks protruding from the wall. She audibly sighs as she sinks into the warm water, letting it rise to her neck. Slowly, almost as though she is half asleep, she scrubs herself clean. Her fingers dig into her scalp, massaging the dirt and grime away.

With no need to be anywhere just of yet, Gailien sits as deep as she can in the tub, her knees gently swaying underneath the water. Her eyes close, head against the back of the tub. She almost does fall into a sleep, only disturbed by a slight creaking of hinges.

“Hello?” she calls out, leaning forward but she cannot see past the small wall that splits the room. There is no mistaking the sound of someone moving on the other side. Her hands rest on either side of the tub but she can’t decide whether it is best to leave it or dive further in.

“Who’s there?” she tries again. Whoever it is, leaves just as quietly as they came. Ruined from her small serenity, she leaves the tub, dripping water all over the floor. She peeks around the corner, but the door is shut and there is nobody in the room. There is, however, also the lack of something that should be in the room.

Dwalin saunters back down the stairs with a small smirk, slowly making his way over to the table a few of the older Dwarves have planted themselves on. Thorin narrows his eyes at the Dwarf once more, taking heavy note of his actions the past hour.

“What are you up to?” he asks. Dwalin’s expression doesn’t falter.

“What do you mean, Thorin?” he replies coolly. “I’m not up to anything.”

“Thorin’s right,” Balin observes. “I know that look anywhere.” Dwalin only shrugs, tracing his finger over the wooden grooves on the table and lets the conversation change naturally as he doesn’t answer.

Then, the sweet and ever so pleasant sound comes ringing from the upper level.

“Chen hedithon min noer o Orodruin!”

Her voice is filled with so much rage that he honestly would not believe it comes from Gailien if he did not know the exact reason she calls out. All the Dwarves’ heads snap up ad Dwalin’s moment of victory ends as a chair scraps obnoxiously against the ground as Kili reacts quicker than anybody else, pushing out from another table and runs towards the stairs. Dwalin shoots from his own, sprinting to the bottom of the staircase and holds his hands to either wall, blocking the young Dwarf from going up.

Kili looks at Dwalin with wide eyes. “What are you doing!?” he cries. The young prince tries to move under Dwalin’s arm, but the warrior quickly moves in his way. Anger grows and he tries to push Dwalin away with a rough shove but Dwalin holds his ground. “She could be hurt,” Kili cries in both confusion and fear. A few other Dwarves stand behind him, looking up to the roof as though they can see through it or at the two Dwarves fighting.

“You probably don’t want to go up there, laddie,” Dwalin says. “Not unless you want to see something that your eyes will never forget.”

Both Kili and Thorin go to speak up but Gailien shouts back through the walls again. “DWALIN, IF YOU DON’T BRING MY CLOTHES BACK IN THE NEXT MINUTE, I WILL STORM DOWN THERE AND TAKE YOURS OFF YOUR BACK INSTEAD.” Kili’s eyes widen as he takes a stumbling step backwards, his cheeks beginning to burn.

Gailien’s chest heaves as she looks out the door that she has cracked open. He took everything, not even leaving her with the decency of a towel. Her room is on the other side of the floor and from memory, all the Dwarves are currently downstairs, but it isn’t a risk she wants to run just yet. Of course, it was Dwalin – he has never looked so smug with her.

All the warmth from the water leaves and she stands there shivering and naked behind the door, waiting for literally anybody to respond to her call. Eventually, she hears heavy footsteps and she takes a step closer to the back of the door, stretching her neck to peek out.

“I, uh, have your clothes,” Fili announces. Gailien sighs stepping closer to the edge.

“You’re a lifesaver, Fee,” she sighs, opening the door to poke her head out. Fili holds her clothes out with one hand, the other firmly placed over his eyes. “I’m a little insulted,” she jests, taking the clothes. With his second hand free, he places it over his first, ensuring that not even a slither of light reaches his eyes.

“I’m sure we both don’t me to remove my hands,” he replies, already walking backwards. Gailien laughs, nodding but realises he can’t see. “And don’t worry about Dwalin, Thorin is already giving him a lecture.”

“For some reason that doesn’t surprise me.”

Finally dressed, Gailien goes back downstairs, holding a pair of slippers that she is going to be wearing in her hand. As soon as she spots him, talking with his brother, Gailien pulls her arm back and pegs one of the shoes through the air.

Dwalin grunts, holding the back of his head where the heel bounced off. He snaps around, glaring at everyone and everything until he finds Gailien glaring back at him. “That was for pushing me into the water,” he states. “I told you I would murder you so think of it as a blessing.”

“Just be glad we’re considered even,” she growls, though slightly teasingly. “Or I would already be digging my grave if I were you.” Huffing in content she finds a spot with Fili and Kili at their usually small table. She smiles at Fili, another thanks before her gaze shifts to Kili. “What’s got you so flushed?” she taunts, noting his red cheeks and downwards cast eyes. 

“Nothing,” he mumbles, earning a choked laugh from his brother. Gailien raises her brow, smiling in adoration at the both of them.

Xx

The others already have left for the feast and though Gailien is changed into the dress (and she hopes that the hall will be warmed), she stays inside the house a little longer, sitting in front of the fire with her eyes closed. She knows that she would either not remember, or not be bothered by the end of tonight to meditate so she figures that missing the beginning of the feast would not be detrimental.

She runs over Fili’s advice, calming her mind and thoughts; letting whatever wants to come, be shown to her. It seems his words are those of wisdom as only after fifteen minutes, do the first visions come to her. The first is the Dwarves rowing in the boat towards Dale, then Thorin standing by the hidden door. It is the last light of Durin’s day, but the keyhole does not reveal itself until the sun has set and the moon shines on them.

Moonlight, not sunlight.

The next image is of Bilbo, inside the mountain. He reaches down and he picks up a large stone. It is nothing like she has ever seen but there is no mistaking that it is the Arkenstone. They do it. They find the Arkenstone. But where is the dragon?

She searches; searches the furthest regions of her mind but still nothing wants to show itself. And if it does not want to, it will not. Gailien sighs, both in content and slight disappointment and opens her eyes. The fire still flickers in front of her, but there is another figure’s side lit. Gailien’s entire body tenses, her muscles preparing to either fight or run as the figure stands next to the hearth, watching her silently.

It only takes a split second longer than her muscles for her eyes to comprehend. “Thorin,” she hisses. “Do you have to look so ominous?” Gailien unfolds her legs, standing up as Thorin unfolds his arms.

“Sorry, you weren’t at the feast and I thought something might be wrong,” he explains himself.

“No, just thought I’d meditate for a while. I told Kili but he probably forgot the moment I left his sight,” she chuckles, dusting off her dress. Thorin looks her over.

“You look lovely,” he notes. One side of Gailien’s mouth tips up in a smirk.

“So, I don’t resemble a troll today?” she teases, biting her cheek.

Thorin shakes his head, stepping closer so he stands in front of the hearth and Gailien. “You never do.”

Gailien was expecting a sarcastic remark or something else that continued the bantering tone she had shown herself but Thorin’s voice is as smooth and as sincere as when he warned her that he would kill her if her loyalties proved to lie elsewhere. That was back in the first few minutes that they had met for the first time, where Gailien had been intimidated by him.

“Are you trying to flatter me for something, Oakenshield?” she questions, a little scared to match Thorin’s way of speaking. “Is there something you want?”

Thorin meets her gaze. His eyes are soft, matching the relaxed muscles of his face. “Perhaps,” he answers.

“You’re being very cryptic,” she notes, swallowing thickly. “I cannot give you what you want if you do not ask for it.”

Thorin’s straight expression breaks as his lips pull into a small smile, accompanied by soft laughter. “You are right. I was just lost I thought for a moment.”

Gailien tilts her head with a small smile. “Care to tell me what about?”

Thorin breaks away from her gaze for the first time. The lines between his eyes deepen and the muscles on his jaws clench. Gailien’s small smile drops as her head straightens. Familiar dread begins the run through her veins; has she done something wrong? Is that what he wishes to speak about?

Just as she is about to dismiss it and tell him that they should probably go to the feast, Thorin speaks. “I remember that night in the forest,” he says, still looking beyond Gailien. “I don’t think you think that I do. But I remember every moment.”

The dread in her veins intensifies. She knew she should not have done so. It was rude, not to mention odd. Her mouth opens partially, to mumble an apology or an excuse, she does not know as it never leaves her mouth.

“Were you under the…influence…of the forest?” Thorin asks.

Oh, she knew it. Gailien feels humiliated. After all this time she had just assumed that he was too lost in his mind to even remember that night. Her eyes close for a moment, gathering her senses before she answers. “No,” she exhales. “But I don’t know why I did. I’m so sorry. I was tired, hungry. I…I-I-“

Two hands clasp her face and new pressure on her makes her stumble back. One of the hands drops from her face to her waist as her mind is too preoccupied with foreign lips on her own to even be aware of her feet.

Every drop of dread is eradicated from her body, replaced by an utterly new sensation that she has never felt in her near five hundred years of life. Instinctively, her own hands raise, wrapping around his neck as his second hand drops around her waist, pulling her even closer. It is intense. Needy. Months of built of desire finally pouring from both of them.

Then, she becomes aware of every nerve in her body; where she can feel his fingers, digging into her waist. Where his beard tickles her cheeks and the feeling of his coat that brushes against her fingertips.

Thorin is the one to break away, breathing heavily as his eyes slowly open. Gailien takes longer, still trying to comprehend that what just happened is in fact, reality. But as she opens her eyes, there is no way her mind could conjure such unexplored emotion.

One of Thorin’s hands slips from her waist, his fingers spidering up until the wrap around her wrist near his neck gently. He guides it forward to his face, mimicking that night in the forest. He leans into her touch, barely touching her hand now as she slowly cups the side of his cheek, threading her fingers through his beard. Gailien raises her other hand to the other side of his face. Thorin’s hand comes back to cup hers, holding it still as he pulls his face away slightly. He tilts his head, kissing her palm tenderly then pulling it back on his face.

He leans forward until his forehead rests against her and teases her own cheek with his lips. Gailien’s hands move from his face to around his neck, threading her fingers up into his long hair. Thorin’s teasing ends as he plants his lips on her cheek lightly, then once again a little lower. Her chest heaves as he trails down under her ear, following the curve of her neck.

The sound of cheering echoes softly into the house from the hall, breaking their little paradise of isolation. Gailien has to force the words to pass through her throat as Thorin kisses over it. “We…we should go to the feast.”

Thorin retreats, leaning back up to his full height. His grip on her waist loosens but never leaves. “I was not…uh…I’m sorry if-“

“Thorin,” she cuts off, smiling with closed lips. The pleasure she feels showing more so in her eyes than anywhere else. Thorin swallows, breathing just as heavy as she was. “You may do that again whenever you like.”

“Then I will.”


	47. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Bittersweet Nights

Gailien sits down next to Bilbo, the feast already well underway with a small and growing stack of plates being taken off by a serving girl. It reminds her of the meeting in Bag-End, the main difference being that Bilbo now has a large smile planted on his own face as he enjoys the night as the Dwarves do.

Thorin takes the seat back at the head of the table, Fili and Kili on his right, Gailien and Bilbo on his left. A plate is placed in front of her, piled with more food then even her eyes can handle, let alone her stomach.

There are guests that she doesn’t recognise, as well as some she does but she pays them no mind.

Gailien begins eating her food (much more politely than the Dwarves) and engages in casual conversation with those in hearing range, although the entire town may as well be in hearing range with how loud they talk. There is music playing behind them, and Gailien is shamefully surprised that they know how to play. She would have thought it too much of a waste of time and resources to learn but it seems like a merry way to distance themselves from the cold harshness of their world, pulling them off into the world that melodies belong in.

Food is flung at her, hitting her shoulder and dropping into her lap. Gailien’s mouth hangs open, looking up from her lap around for the guilty Dwarf. She finds Kili smiling cheekily at her, pulling a piece of bread apart over his plate. Gailien reaches for the piece of bread in her lap and throws it back at him.

She both scoffs and laughs as Kili catches it in his mouth, cheering loudly. “You are like a dog, Kili,” she muses. “Would you like to give me treats when you’re well behaved?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Kili teases, smirking with playful cockiness as he leans back in his seat.

“I reckon we should keep him on a leash as well,” Fili adds. “Might make keeping him alive a little easier.” Kili nudges his brother but the joyous smiles don’t leave any of their faces.

“You’ll need a strong one, or he’ll chew right through it,” Thorin says, with one of those rare true smiles. He leans forward on his elbows, resting his chin on clasped hands. Kili crosses his arms, fiddling with a small animal bone that he has already eaten the meat off.

“The dog’s got his bone,” Gailien taunts at the faux sulking prince. Kili rolls his eyes, bringing his hand behind his head before throwing the bone at Gailien who promptly ducks out of the way. “Is that any way to treat a Lady? My, I’m beginning to question who taught you.”

Kili leans forward with confidence. “Ah,” he says, pointing to his left. “That was Thorin so you can blame him.”

Thorin swallows the large bite of food in his mouth, holding his palms up in surrender. “Do not drag me into this.”

Bofur brings out his flute instrument as the musicians of Lake-town take a break from singing. The food in front of them is mostly scraps and their stomachs full, but with no less energy. They move from their seats onto the open floor area. Although to Bilbo and Gailien the tune is unfamiliar, the Dwarves start singing along to the melody of Bofur’s tune. They bellow loud with beaming faces, clapping and stomping their feet.

Gailien takes a wine offered to her, along with Bilbo while the rest opt for their tankards being refilled. She will be surprised if she manages to go the night without slipping as they dance about with their drinks held high, knocking them together and chugging them.

Gailien notices Ori being particularly quiet, drinking and cheering but not dancing with the others. Thorin, herself and Bilbo are the only ones not dancing, though Bilbo looks about ready to join in. She places her glass down on a counter, walking over to the young Dwarf.

“Are you not in the dancing mood, Master Ori?” she asks, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he confesses.

Gailien gestures out to Fili and Kili who are moving about in what seems like random moves, but she is sure they are some form of dance. “Do they look like much of dancers to you? Dancing is about having fun, not being good at it.” She holds out her hands to him, stepping in front. “Come on, I need a dance partner.”

“I don’t want to embarrass you, Miss. I’m-“

Ori shrieks as Gailien cuts him off, grasping his hands and pulls him into the large circle with the others. She dances free-heartedly, swinging her body about, pulling Ori along as she skips and twirls. Ori starts off just as shy, but she knows he is braver than he looks (a fact which he has proven many times over) and soon loosens up as Dori and Gloin join their circle. She watches their moves, trying to copy them herself but she likely looks rather ridiculous. But she meant what she had said to Ori; that dancing is about having fun, and she knows that if anybody here was to judge her, it would be the musicians and she could not care less about their opinions.

She couldn’t care less.

They thought strikes her and for a moment she stops dancing to look at the musicians who have at some point returned to playing as Bofur now joins the small dance party. Even as she looks at them, catching one or two of their eyes she realises in pure delight that she truly did not care what they thought of her.

It is like a heavy weight has been lifted from her because for the first time since she was a child, their opinions don’t matter to her. At all. They may as well not even exist.

Her trance of self-realisation is broken as her arms are pulled and she is dragged off much as she did to Ori. Only in front of her is Bofur who spins her around in so many circles that she is sure the room is going to be spinning when she stops. The smile doesn’t leave her face as she lets Bofur lead her around, bumping into the other Dwarves.

She swings past Thorin, catching his eye for a split second as he watches her with an adoring smile. Her cheeks flush and she bows her head slightly. Eventually, she is swung in Bilbo’s direction who has finally given in and they dance around with looped arms, dancing slightly differently from the rest of the company but they enjoy their own style – or rather, Bilbo’s which Gailien learns much quicker than the Dwarves.

Then she is snatched away, her feet leaving the floor as rough hands plant on her waist. She shrieks as she is spun in the air, her hands finding the culprit’s shoulders. Kili chortles but Gailien can see the wince of pain in his face. Her feet land back on the ground.

“Be careful,” she warns, though making sure her tone is light to not insult him. Kili shrugs as he leads her around.

“What’s life without a little risk?”

“Much safer,” she retorts but does agree with him silently.

“I have to make my favourite half-Elf happy,” he defends proudly.

“And how many other half-Elves do you know, dilthen er?”

“Well if I knew more than one, you’d still be my favourite.”

“I’m glad to hear so.”

She dances around with Kili and Fili, the former favouring his right leg but shows no sign of the pain he was in before. Soon she requires a good moment to breathe and steps away from the brothers. She retakes her glass of half-drunk wine and wanders over to Thorin who still stands there with his own drink, watching over the company with content.

“Don’t feel like dancing?” she asks.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he replies smoothly.

“Ori said the same thing,” she notes. “Now look at him.” Thorin and Gailien watch as Ori does a sort of known dance with Nori, not fitting the music at all but still nonetheless, entertaining to watch. “Don’t worry, I won’t force you out there.”

“We are leaving the morning after next,” he says. “Make sure you have everything that you need.”

Gailien nods, thinking about her empty holster. Perhaps Fili may have two long knives instead that he could spare for her. She jolts, almost spilling her drink. “I almost forgot!” she cries. “I saw something.” Thorin turns to her, giving his full attention. “The last light of Durin’s day. It isn’t the sun, it’s the moon!”

Thorin’s eyes widen and his mouth opens partially. His eyes flicker behind her, looking out through a window where there the moon shines through. “The moon,” he mutters. “I never would have thought…” He places his drink down, his hands being filled with her hips instead. He lifts her up, twirling her around once. “You are amazing. We might have never realised.”

Gailien laughs, her hands resting on his shoulders. Her feet touch the ground once more. His hands do not leaver her hips and shy coyly glances over to the company. A few eyes are on them but Thorin doesn’t take notice. For the second time that night, he leans down, claiming her lips.

There is a moment of silence, only filled by the instruments as the Dwarves stop dancing. Thorin breaks away once more, smiling broadly. Then the hall fills with a mix of cheers and groans of disappointment. Gailien turns her head to look at the group. Around half of them are digging into their pockets, and the other half stand their cockily.

“I had my money on you, Gailien!” Gloin cries with a scrunched face as he pulls out a small sack of coins. He dumps them unceremoniously in Oin's awaiting hand. Gailien begins to realise what this is all about.

“Did you have a secret wager going on?!” she exclaims. Even Bilbo is having money handed to him by Bofur. “Unbelievable. What was it even about?”

“Who would confess first,” Balin answers. “It was an even split.”

“Wait a minute!” Bofur begins to protest. “That definitely didn’t look like their first time! Who was it then?”

Gailien can’t even answer, her mouth still hanging open partially as she shakes her head. “You still won’t win, Bofur,” Thorin announces. Bofur cries out again, his hands slapping the air. Thorin leans down close to her ear, standing behind her. “Let us dance.”

“I thought you weren’t a dancer?” she teases but lets him guide her out, nonetheless.

“I can make an exception.”

So they dance, her feet beginning to tire. Kili and Fili sit back down (and she is sure that his leg has just become too sore) but the smile on his face never leaves. And neither does her own. True to prediction, she does end up slipping on a small puddle of ale, her shoes (also borrowed) not having the same grip as her usual boots. But her arms are caught before she slides to the floor.

Gailien laughs breathlessly, excusing herself for another break. She heads for the two brothers who are sitting with newly filled tankards but only makes it half-way before she is pulled into an unexpected vision.

They are at Bard’s only the man is not there, only his two daughters. Fili, herself, Oin and Bofur are also present, leaning over a figure on a table. The figure cries out in pure anguish, their limbs being thrown about. The three company members plus the two daughters try to hold the person down as Gailien seems to be tending to their leg.

Gailien realises with horror that it is Kili. His face is pale stricken, dripping in sweat and his teeth and jaw are clenched, eyes screwed shut. His hand latches around Gailien’s wrist as she removes the bandage, trying to stop her from causing his pain. Her own face is tear covered, her mouth sending a stream on never-ending apologies.

As the bandage is finally unravelled, Gailien finally sees why the wound is causing so much pain. The arrow has been poisoned. A poison she has only read about but knows well of. It is that caused by a Morgul arrow, taking from the poison on the wraith’s blades.

The vision ends and she is sucked back into the present. In front of her are the brothers, waiting patiently for her to come back to them. She blinks, glancing quickly down at Kili’s leg. He has is slightly propped, resting almost no weight on it. Just how much pain is he hiding?

“You need to come with me,” she says. There is no lightness in her tone as she has had for almost the entire night. Her face is blank, almost trying to both show no emotion, yet show how entirely serious she is right now. “Both of you.”

“What? Why?” Fili asks.

“What did you see?” Kili asks. Gailien looks over her shoulder. Most of the company have followed her lead, their dancing stopping but they hold their drinks once more and talk loudly in groups.

She holds her arm out, catching Dwalin as he walks past. “The boys and I are going to retire for the night,” she tells him. Dwalin nods before continuing on. Gailien turns back to the brothers. “You both come now, or I tell Thorin just how much pain you’re in,” she warns, directing her words to Kili.

Kili frowns, looking at his brother who eyes him off with tight lips. His eyes flicker uncomfortably. “I don’t want to be left behind,” he confesses in a whisper. Gailien’s stern eyes drop, placing a hand under his dropped jaw, lifting it back up so he looks her in the eye. 

“And you won’t. But you have to follow me.”


	48. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Poisoned Blood

Fili, Kili, and Gailien leave the Banquet hall as casually as they can but as soon as the door closes behind them, Gailien snatches Kili’s arm, wrapping it around her shoulder. It seems that she has broken the façade that he has been putting on as he begins to grunt, limping heavily. Fili takes his other arm as they help him down the short stairs.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers. “I thought I could handle it.”

“You don’t just handle poison, Kili,” she chides, trying and somewhat failing to keep the bite from her tone. “Especially not from a Morgul arrow. Did you even get Oin to look at it?” Kili looks down to the ground in front of them, not answering.

“Morgul?!” Fili exclaims. He looks over Kili’s scrunched face. “He’s going to be alright, right? What exactly did you see?”

Gailien chews her cheek. She really doesn’t want to tell either of them what she saw but she needs them to know the seriousness of what is happening. “What I saw was us reacting too late. I think I can heal him, but I need something first. We just need to get Kili onto a bed and not moving. The more you move, the faster it will spread.” If it wasn’t already entirely throughout his body, just slowly affecting his heart. “I’ll worry about what I need.”

Fortunately, their temporary house is not far from the hall at all and Fili kicks the door open. She knows that Kili’s number one desire right now is to be with the company. And if Thorin saw exactly the pain that he is in right now, there is no way that he would be allowed to continue. As long as Gailien can find what she needs, Kili will heal just like the rest of the company believes him to be doing.

She debates bringing one of the beds down but it would arouse suspicion if one of the other Dwarves returned earlier than they could return it so Fili and Gailien help haul Kili up the stairs, one at a time.

His fingers dig into hers and Fili’s shoulder as he tries to use his right leg. “Don’t,” Gailien says softly. “We can take your weight.” Kili must be tired of denying as he shifts to his left entirely and hops up the stairs with their help. “I can’t believe you were dancing tonight,” she mutters.

“I was ignoring it well until you brought it up,” he grunts as they finally reach the top.

“That’s the way of the mind for you.”

“Come on, Kee,” Fili says, guiding him over to his bed. Gailien kicks her own cot out of the way to give them a direct path and they slowly lower him down onto the thin mattress. He sits on the edge, his fingers brushing over his injured thigh.

“Lie down, Polodren er,” she instructs, pressing down on his shoulders softly. Kili lets her, his head falling onto the pillow.

“Polodren?”

“I’ve taught you what that means before,” Gailien says, inspecting his leg. She tries to keep him talking as she does so. “Do you remember?”

Kili frowns, trying to think back to all their little sessions as the bandage around his leg is unwrapped. Her touch is painful as she lifts his leg to pull it away, but he plays with her attempts to distract him. “Does it mean handsome?” he asks, choking on laughter.

Gailien smiles softly. “No,” she chuckles. “What about, Ech maethor veleg ar gornen?”

“You called me a warrior,” Kili says. “And brave.”

Fili looks to Gailien in appreciation as he stands near his brother’s head. “Is there anything I can do?” he asks.

Gailien shakes her head, straightening back up. She reaches for her jacket lying over her bed and draws it on. “Stay here and watch over him for me. I need to go find Athelas. It has healing properties that should be able to take this poison out.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Fili notes.

“It’s called Kingsfoil is Common tongue.” She bends down near Kili’s head. He has a small smile despite the pain so clearly painted as well. They have time. She brushes the hair off his face then looks to Fili. “I’m going to ask Bard. If he doesn’t know then I might need to go to the mainland, but we still have quite a bit of time. What I saw wasn’t tonight.”

She kicks off her shoes, swapping to her boots.

“Maybe we should tell Thorin,” Fili suggests. “Or have someone go with you.”

“I’ll be fine. Just…stay here.”

Gailien bounds down the stairs, her own limp heavily playing as she takes no regard to hide it. Without wasting another moment, Gailien jogs through Lake-town, trying to find her way through the paths in the little light. Quite a few people are still around town and she ducks through them, mumbling apologies randomly.

Finally, she finds her way to the familiar house and knocks on the door, pulling the jacket tighter around her. Her ears pick up the sound of footsteps belonging to someone that could only be Bard. Sure enough, he opens the door.

Bard’s face (which never really smiles in the first place) darkens. “I am done with Dwarves,” he growls. “Do not come back here.” He begins to shut the door but Gailien’s hands shoot out, holding the edge.

“Please. I just need to ask you something,” she begs, looking at Bard through the closing gap. Though he doesn’t open the door any further, he doesn’t pull it closed either. “Kingsfoil. Do you know where I can find it?”

“Kingsfoil?” he questions. “Why would you need that?”

“Kili’s hurt and the plant has healing properties. Do you know if I could find it here, or even on the mainland?”

Bard’s jaw muscles protrude as he seems to have an internal debate. Half of his mind is telling him to not aid the Dwarves in any way, but he does not like to ignore those who need help. Besides, telling her wouldn’t come to any harm for him or his family. “It’s a weed. We feed it to the pigs. You’ll be able to find it in any trough.”

“A weed,” she mumbles. Of course. They probably wouldn’t know about its uses. “Thank you, really.” She lets go of his door, giving him an appreciative smile before she skips into another jog, only this time, her eyes are darting around as she takes random turns to look for any pigs.

“Pigs. Pigs. Pigs. Pigs,” she chants to herself darting around corners. “Pigs. Pigs…. Pigs!”

Three large pigs sleep in an enclosure. Their trough is only partially full but there are still the remains of some of their food in there. Gailien hoists herself up onto the fence, quickly looking around for any eyes that might spy on her peculiar actions but there are none. She swings herself into the enclosure, being sure not to wake the pigs who will surely squeal if they hear her. She looks into the trough, thanking her eyes for letting her see clearer than the blood of Men.

Fruits. Vegetables. Some other unidentifiable substances. And one batch of Athelas sitting right under a rotting apple. Gailien’s hand dives in, taking the whole thing and holds it up in achievement. Now to get back to Kili.

She swings back over the fence, her boots landing heavily. The pigs awaken, and true to prediction, begin squealing loudly but Gailien is already sprinting back to the awaiting brothers. The plant stays tightly gripped between her palm and fingers, staying close to her chest so the resistance of the wind has no chance to blow them away (not that it could with her grip).

Back through the maze of the town she runs, twisting and turning, jumping over the water and using the boats as steppingstones. She has never felt so Elvish in her life. And she is a little timid to admit that she is almost proud of her lithe display of skills. She has always thought herself to odd to even resemble them, yet here she is with the grace of Legolas himself.

Finally, she reaches their building. The hall that the Dwarves are at still having merry music seep through its wall. She pushes the door open, which she had conveniently not shut completely on her way out, and almost leaps into the kitchen. She pulls a bowl from the cupboard and shoves the plant in. Grabbing a pestle, she begins to grind it up and uses what she can to make it into a paste.

She would need to use the Elven chant as well – just to make sure. The words are imprinted on her mind, taught from a young age to almost every Elf; whether it be by their mother or their commander.

Fili bounds down the steps, hearing the commotion below. He sees Gailien pacing with a bowl and pestle under her tucked arm. “You got it then?” he asks, stopping half-way down. Gailien looks up nodding.

“I do. I’ll be up in a minute.” Fili nods, retreating back up to his brother. Kili is sitting up in his bed, touching the skin around his wound. It is clearly infected – with poison apparently – and he feels awful for causing such a fuss. Fili slaps his hand away. “Stop touching it,” he chides. “Gailien’s back, she’ll do a lot more than slap you if she sees you doing so.”

“You think I’ll still be able to go? To the mountain?” Kili asks.

“I’ll carry you if I have to,” Fili assures him. “But you better be down-right grateful that she’s seen what she did. Morgul, Kee.” He shakes his head, not believing that his brother has been so stupid to ignore the pain of Morgul poison.

“I am,” Kili replies coyly.

Gailien comes up the steps, poised and ready with the paste in hand. She clicks her tongue as she sees Kili sitting up. At least he does not look anything like he did in her vision – besides a being on the paler side and dark circles under his eye. She wonders how she didn’t notice his sickening state before.

Kili smiles bashfully, quickly lying back down before she can push him. “That’s what I thought,” she mutters, placing the bow next to his leg. She has already removed the bandage, which was painful enough, but this next process would be excruciating. She removes her jacket and leans closer to his head. “Open.”

Kili opens his mouth and she shoves the material in there. His eyes widen partially as he realises what this means. Fili moves around the other side, taking the silent hint as well. Kili begins to show his true fear as the effects of the wound is not held behind any façade.

She scoops the paste into her fingers and nods to Fili who holds his shoulder and opposite knee down. Gailien’s free hand presses his forearm into the table, his fists already clenched. The wound is blackening.

Without another moment to lose, Gailien presses the paste to his wound. The young prince’s throat strains as he tries to contain the grunts and cries of pain, coming from the pressure and new substance entering his body.

Fili presses hard against his brother whose limbs are straining against his hold and Gailien has to use her elbow to keep his knee from jerking up to her. He squirms and writhes in agony as she rubs the paste in.

“Meno o ni a hon, I eliad annen annin, hon leitho o ngurth.”

The Elven chant falls from her lips repetitively. It is an enchanting sight, her Elvish blood showing through. Her ears on full display with her hair tied back, emphasising her pointed features. Her eyes close, her sole focus on the flow of the words through her and into the Dwarf under her hands.

Kili’s jaw begins to unclench as the pain begins to ebb away slowly as he and Fili stare at Gailien with wonder. The pain doesn’t disappear entirely but transforms into a new sort of pain, the one belonging to a healing wound. Slowly, her hand retreats and her eyes open.

Kili and Fili watch her as she takes a step back, her hands held out in front of her as she watches Kili. Using his elbows, he pushes himself up and looks at his leg which is covered in this paste. Then her still face breaks and she takes a step forward. With the back of her clean hand, she slaps his chest harshly.

“You do not get to do that to people!” she exclaims. “You tell someone! Me, Fili, Thorin, Oin – just don’t ever force me to have a vision of you on your deathbed!” Her hands drop back down as her shoulders sag. Kili’s eyes are wide as saucers and Fili even takes a step back. “The stubbornness of DWARVES! You are an absolute foolish, stubborn-” her minds runs so fast that she can’t even come up with enough insults “-idiot!” 

Gailien quickly picks up the bowl, turns around, and storms back down the stairs. A few tears prickle in her eyes but she hastily wipes them away. This was supposed to be a good night. She never wants to feel the fear she had tonight again. She dumps the bowl into the water bucket to wash later, dipping her own hand in to wash them.

She still has to bind his leg back up but that paste won’t move until she has the mental state to return. She wipes her now clean hands on her dress then places them on the edge of the counter, hunching forward.

Today has just been…a day. A storm of emotions.

Two heavy sets of footsteps come down the stairs and Gailien turns around to chide Kili for even thinking about getting out of the bed, but she can’t find herself to yell at him again. His arm is around his brother’s shoulders and he limps but that cheeky smile is back, even if it is a little smaller than usual.

She raises an eyebrow in question, crossing her arms and leans back against the counter as Kili unwraps his arm from Fili. He looks up at Gailien and slowly limps forward. Though he is still paler than usual, the circles under his eyes are beginning to lift.

Kili finally reaches her and instead of talking, he just wraps his arms around her. Gailien’s stoic face breaks once again and she sighs with soft laughter mixed with a dry sob, wrapping her own arms around him. “Im naer,” he says.

“You should be,” she says in resignation. She lifts her head, looking at Fili and opens one of her arms. “Join the hug,” she chuckles. Fili smiles to himself, marching forward and wraps his hands around the both of them. Kili places a kiss to her forehead and she smiles in content. “Either of you ever does something like that and I’ll leave you for dead. Got that?”

The brothers laugh. She bathes in their hug for a few more moments before she sighs, dropping her hands. “I’ve got to get it bandaged up. And not a word of this to anybody unless you want them to know just how injured you are. You’re going to that mountain.”

“Yes, mam,” Kili states.


	49. Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Vision of Dragon Fire

The sun has long passed drifted below to horizon, replaced by the moon which shines perfectly through their window. The next morning, they would be leaving for the mountain and Gailien can physically feel the emotions pulsating off of the Dwarves. Nerves. Excitement. Determination.

Her legs are crossed underneath her as she sits on her bed, watching the Dwarves double check all their belongings are ready for the morning. Some Dwarves are downstairs drinking (read: Bofur) but most are just spending the night quietly.

Fili, not unexpectedly, is going through all his knives with a sharpening stone again. He lies them out neatly on his bed. Gailien already has two of them in her belt holster from him which she is grateful for since the heaviness of an axe or single sword feels too heavy and restricting in her hands.

She watches him, drifting in her thoughts more so than interested. Her eyes flicker to Kili who sits on the edge of his bed, prodding his thigh. Gailien kicks out her leg, kicking him lightly in the unwounded one.

“Sorry,” Kili says. “It’s just healing so good.”

“No pain?”

“Only tender.”

Gailien nods in content, her eyes searching the room until she can find another source of interest. Bilbo sits on his own bed, looking intently at his sword – which apparently, he has named Sting. Noting the troubled glint in his eye, Gailien pushes herself off her own and saunters over to him. She plops down on his matters, nudging his shoulder slightly with her own.

“What thoughts have conjured that look in your eye, Bilbo?”

Bilbo glances at but then looks back to his sword. “I’m…worried.”

“I think we all are,” Gailien offers. “I would find it odd if you weren’t. Would it help you if I said I’ve already seen a vision of you finding the Arkenstone?”

Her eyebrow peaks, waiting for his reaction. Bilbo’s tensed face drops slightly as he looks to Gailien again. “I-I do?” Gailien nods with a comforting smile. She had almost forgotten to mention that part of her vision, but it wasn’t overly important – nothing needed to be changed or warned about. But she can see the tension beginning to seep away from Bilbo who begins to nod to himself.

“You’ll know it when you see it,” she adds. “It is unlike any jewel you have seen before.”

“I think that mountain is going to be full of gems that I’ve never seen before,” he snorts, earning a short giggle from Gailien.

“You’re probably right. But trust me when I say you’ll know. And most importantly, trust yourself. Nobody would be here without you.” Gailien fiddles with her pants, a frown settling on her face. Over the past day, a new worry has risen in her mind – one she had not thought to concern herself with before. “I want you to promise me something, Bilbo.”

“Hmm,” Bilbo frowns. “What is it?”

“Do what you think it right,” she says. “You’re smart. There’s a…sickness linked to that treasure, a sickness that affects Dwarves. And I don’t know exactly what I’m asking of you but if your gut is telling you to do something, listen to it.”

Bilbo’s mouth slips open slightly, but he nods, nevertheless. Gailien nods to herself once. Thorin was in talks with the Master currently, organising the finalities of their deal but he should be returning soon.

Gailien stands back up to return to her own cot. “Let me change your bandage, Polodren er,” she says, her feet rising in the air to move through the maze of cots and belongings.

“Why the change of name?” he asks with a questioning smile.

“Because it suits you much better,” she answers. “I’m afraid your previous one may have been a little insulting.”

Kili’s face drops as Fili chuckles to himself. “Insulting? Were you insulting me all this time!?” he cries.

Gailien chuckles, sitting next to him on his cot. “Only if you took it that way. It meant ‘little one’.”

“Little?!” Kili cries in outrage. “You’ve been calling me little all this time?!”

“Hush,” Gailien says softly, beginning to unwrap the bandage as he props his leg up. “It used to be my own. As I said though, Polodren is much more fitting.”

Kili’s demeanour changes at the new information. “You gave me your own nickname?” He huffs playfully leaning back on his hands. “I think she’s chosen her favourite, Fee.”

Fili only lifts his eyes, smiling softly at his brother but continues sharpening without comment. His jaw twitches as he swallows thickly. Gailien glances over her shoulder at the older brother, taking note of his quiet character.

She finishes unwrapping. “I just need to go ask Oin for a new one,” she states. She stands, beginning to wander over to maze of belongings once again. Her knees lift as her arms reach out to the sides slightly, her body twisting to not step on anybody’s things.

She takes a large step over Thorin’s belongings, her toes barely touching the ground as she is pulled into another unexpected vision.

It is utterly horrifying from the start. Smaug, awake and in full flight. His chest burns like embers as he soars directly towards her. The world around her is blurred, a mix of smoke, fire, and buildings – there is no mistaking that it is Lake-town.

In her vision, she ducks out of the way, Smaug’s flames burning over her head as she rolls behind a stone structure. His body swoops low over her head, encasing her in his shadow. Why is she still in Lake-town? Why is she not with the Dwarves?

She runs out of her spot with a destination in mind. She leaps over fallen obstacles, running past the open flames the engulf homes and roads. People scream, running in the opposite direction. The dragon flies overhead once more, though higher and faster. Gailien watches it, not slowing her pace.

She turns a corner as another figure sprints towards her. Her boots skid across the ground to a stop. Bard. He stands in front of her, holding a large black arrow that is not made for any ordinary bow. They look at each other for a moment but Smaug growls above them and they duck out of the way.

If it weren’t for her keen eyes, she might have missed it but there is no mistaking it. Under his left wing there is a dislodge scale; a weakness in his armour. Her eyes snap back to the arrow in Bard’s hand.

The next thing she registers is a thumping pain on the side of her head. Her vision readjusts as she returns to the present. Gailien looks straight ahead but she is also looking at the roof, four heads popping in around her vision. Her nose crinkles in a wince as the pain doesn’t fade away.

Oin is one of the four, kneeling by her head as he presses something to it. Gailien recoils at his touch, utterly perplexed to why he is there. Her eyes blink rapidly, trying to organise her thoughts but everything mixes together.

Gailien digs her elbows into the floor to try and push herself up but Fili quickly stops her, gently guiding her back down. She can’t even find it in herself to fight.

The dragon – they awaken the dragon. So the Dwarves are at the mountain but she doesn’t leave with them. Should she tell them – warn them? Warn the people of Lake-town, or the Dwarves, or both? Is there any way to stop them from awakening him?

But Smaug will be awoken any which way since they intend to reclaim Erebor, but they wanted an army behind them. But an army will do no good if they do not have a weapon to destroy him with. They need to Black Arrow and Bard knows where to find one.

“You just hit your head,” Fili explains to Gailien. Gailien doesn’t even look at him, just straight ahead at the ceiling but she blinks, twitching which tells them she is not in a vision. “Gailien? Can you look at me?”

“Is she alright?” Bilbo asks, his hands resting on his bent knees. Gailien doesn’t make any acknowledgment of Fili’s request, her breathing laboured. Oin frowns, pulling at her cheeks lightly to look at her eyes. They flicker between invisible images.

“Gailien?” Kili tries, leaning closer to see if her eyes move to him.

Gailien’s mind runs through too many things at once. Her options seem both endless and non-existent and with the pain in her head, she fights herself just to be able to think. She’s never struggled so much to just orientate herself after a vision, but never before has she seen something like this.

Then her eyes roll towards the back of her head.

Xx

Gailien’s breathe catches as she awakens and once again, she is in a different place. She is still lying down by her head is resting on its side against something both firm and tender. I front of her there are a few Dwarves sitting on the ground, their backs facing her as they face the homely fire.

Along with the warmth of the fire, she is coated in a thick blanket, pulled up to her shoulders. The pain in her head is now a soft pulse near her temple – there, but manageable. Her legs shift as she moves onto her side to face the fire. She is lying across something both soft and familiar. Her bed. But the mattress is on the floor in the common area.

The thing which her head rests upon extends out in front of her face, turning into a pair of boots. Her shoulders un-tense as she realises who they belong to. His hand moves from the mattress to her head, slowly running his fingers through her loose hair.

She smiles, nuzzling her face against his leg. His finger slowly traces down the side of her face, missing over her sore temple and runs down her neck before slowly retracing the invisible line back up.

In front of her, one of the Dwarves turn around and look at her. Fili smiles softly as their eyes meet then turns back around, mumbling something to his brother.

“You had me scared for a while there,” he mutters softly, barely above a whisper. Most of the company are quiet, sitting and drinking in front of the fire. Except for Bofur who lies drunkenly passed out underneath the dinning table.

Gailien tilts her head up to the right to look at his face. “It wasn’t my intention. I just…a good knock to the head I suppose. It happens.” The vision replays over in her mind, erupting a new headache but she cringes, pushing it away. She has no idea what to do, but there is no way she could convince them not to go into the mountain. And she is needed here to warn the people. So many variables. And they have no idea what is coming.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired. I think I’m just going to go back to sleep.”

“Would you like us to take you back to your room?”

Gailien sighs, thinking about the offer but there is no reason to accept. She is warm, comfortable and surrounded by her friends. So, she shakes her head. But she can think of a position she’d much rather be in. Pulling herself up, the blanket softly falls into her lap and Thorin unravels his arm from around her. He is leaning back against the counter that she was the previous day.

Sitting up fully, she slowly climbs into his lap, curling her legs up on his other side. Her left side presses into his front and she lets her head fall onto his shoulder, nestling under his hair. Thorin shifts to a more comfortable position, his arms wrapping around her and he laughs softly, the vibration jostling her. With her right arm, she wraps it around is chest and up past his shoulder.

“Guys?” she calls out, having to take a deep breath to be loud. The Dwarves turn around, raising their brows. “Can I request a song?”

“Which one would you like, lassie?” Dwalin asks, sitting next to his brother.

“The one that you sang on the very first night. At Bilbo's’.”

Thorin smiles to himself, tightening his grip on her as he leads them into the melody.

“Far over the Misty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day…”

As he sings, to show her appreciation, she kisses his neck softly. His grip tightens around her and his fingers begin drawing patterns of runes onto her thigh. She needs this tonight – the peacefulness. As she assumed, their voices lull her to sleep.


	50. Chapter 26

Chapter 26: Left Behind

Gailien slowly ties her boots up, sitting on the floor of the common area. The Dwarves are spread out through the entire house, either eating or putting on their armour. Gailien opted not to wear any – since she would not be going. Every time she tried to tell somebody; she becomes overridden with guilt. They might think she is abandoning them, but that is the furthest from the truth.

Smaug needs to die, Gandalf confirmed that for her a while ago and she didn’t know how it would be done but now with the knowledge of the Black Arrow and Bard, she knows where her duty lies. Gailien knows she cannot tell them about the waking of the dragon – they would just promise to be extra careful and it would scare them even more. Nerves make mistakes.

Then she also has to find the correct timing to go to Bard. If she tells him to early, then he’ll try and stop the Dwarves. Not to mention if it gets wind to the rest of the town, they drive themselves into chaos and try to escape. But Smaug will attack them no matter where they run. So Gailien is left with the solemn duty of finding the perfect time to warn them enough so they have the time to escape but also keep Smaug around the town so Bard can shoot him down.

“I think I’ve watched you tie and retie that same shoe four times,” Fili muses. He has just finished tying off his last plates of armour and intended to just talk with his brother but Kili is still getting ready himself. Thorin is pacing around, making sure everybody is on top of everything.

Gailien sighs, tying it off tightly for a final time. “Distracted,” she excuses herself. Her forehead thankfully, never truly bled but she is left with a nasty bruise just above her temple, colouring her skin.

“You never told us what you saw last night,” he says. “Whatever it was struck a nerve in you.” Gailien drops her eyes back to the floor where her booted feet lay in front of her. Fili sighs, dropping down next to her. “I’ve already told you before that you have a habit of getting stuck in your head.”

Gailien manages a stiff breath of laughter through her nose. “I know, malthen emel. But this is something that I have to carry myself.” She tucks her chin to her chest in thought, wanting to distract her mind for at least a moment. “I’ve…noticed that you seem to not like jokes about favouritism,” she begins cautiously. “You know that they’re just jokes, right?”

Fili sucks his lips, looking down at his fingernails. “Yeah, of course,” he answers. Gailien watches him silently. It is a trick her father used to use to get her to confess. The silence is just too vacant, and people talk to fill it. And it seems to work as Fili rounds off his shoulders, trying to hold his mind together as he answers. “Sometimes I think they aren’t,” he admits quietly. His eyes dart around trying to find any listening ears. “Thorin was always softer with Kili. And you treat him the same way. Even our mother treats him easier.”

Gailien nods slowly as he talks, wanting to validate his feelings. “I don’t think it has anything to do with favouritism,” she says. “You’re the future king, Fee. You hold yourself strong and while it may sound a little wrong, there is a lot more weighing on your shoulders. I love you both equally, and I treat you how I think you need to be by me. I don’t want to…to-to to coddle you because I don’t think you need it. And neither does Kili for that matter, I just enjoy it.

“Nobody is treating you differently because they love you any less, especially your mother or Thorin. But one day you are going to have an entire kingdom to run and you need to be able to stand tall and proud – and be a good leader. Sure, Kili is a prince, but unless something unthinkable happens, then he will never have to have that responsibility. Could you imagine Kili as a king right now?”

Their eyes gaze over to where Kili is spinning about in a circle, trying to grasp one of the ties to his shoulder plates. “Like a dog chasing his tail,” Fili chuckles. “I…I guess you’re right.” He smiles, shaking his head to himself. “I came over here to listen to your worries, not ramble about my own.”

“I think I owe you,” Gailien answers, standing and offering a hand down. “And don’t ever think I don’t have a soft spot for you. I only give special people nicknames.”

“Yes, but you never told me what mine means,” he points out as they wander to where everyone seems to be congregating by the entrance. “And since you were calling Kee little all this time, I must say that my mind has been running over the possibilities.”

“Don’t worry,” she laughs. “You both have deserving names now.”

“Will you tell me then?”

“Do you not like the mystery?”

“I did but now my curiosity is turning into a burden.”

Gailien smiles softly, tilting her head as she watches Fili pester her. “It means golden heart,” she answers affectionately. Fili’s mouth opens slightly, a faint blush dusting his cheek. “Do you like it or would you like something else. Dilthen er is free now.”

Fili shakes his head. “No. I…Thank you, it is an honourable name to have bestowed, Elger karr'a.”

“Elger karr’a?” she asks. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but should I know what that means.”

“I thought it is time that gave you one of your own,” he answers. “And now you are faced with the same curiosity that you burdened me with.”

“I take it that I won’t know for a while?” she jests. Fili squints one eye, shaking his head. Kili finally prances over to them. Gailien smile proudly at the brothers, donned in their armour. “You boys – correction, you men look like true warriors.”

Kili smirks arrogantly, pushing his shoulders back and his chin tilts a little higher. Fili chuckles at his brother’s behaviour. “Kee, I have taken the honour of giving our little half-Elf a nickname since she is so fond of them. What do you think about Elger karr’a?”

Kili’s mouth opens slightly and Gailien isn’t quite sure what to make of that expression but it turns into an open-mouthed grin. “I think it is perfect,” he announces. “Do you know what it means?”

“No, your brother is keen on letting my curiosity burn as I let yours,” Gailien intones. “And I must say it is already doing what you intended since you had quite the reaction just then.”

“Don’t worry, it isn’t an insult,” Fili laughs. Gailien rolls her eyes.

“I would hope not.”

Kili frowns as he looks her over. “You’re not wearing armour,” he notes. “Did we not take anything that would fit you?”

Gailien crosses her arms over her stomach, her mouth opening but the words don’t form correctly. “No, I-I, uh-“

Thorin saves her (even if it is just for a few minutes) as he stands behind her, resting his hands on her upper arms. “We are leaving in a moment’s time,” he informs the trio. “There is no time to waste.”

“Of course,” Fili answers. “We are ready.”

Thorin nods, squeezing her arms. With one hand, he cups her cheek, turning it over her shoulder and kisses it affectionately. Gailien smiles with closed eyes, only opening them as Thorin leaves once again. Kili raises a brow as he watches his uncle go.

“It is a little strange to see him so…” he trails off, unable to find the right word but Fili is on the exact same track of thought.

“Affectionate,” he offers. Gailien rolls her eyes, trying to ignore her blush. Kili nods, humming in agreement.

“Alright!” Thorin exclaims. “Durin’s day is the day after next, we move now.”

Gailien gives the brothers a tight smile, readjusting her small pack. She doubts she would be welcome to stay here another night, not with Alfrid and the Master giving the company distasteful looks. She only hopes that whatever wealth Thorin has promised the town does not go straight to his personal needs.

The Dwarves shuffle out of the door and into the streets of Lake-town. Her fingers pinch her thighs as she tries to keep her sights on the road directly in front of her. They’re going to be facing a dragon. She hasn’t even seen if the Dwarves will make it out alive. The people begin crowding around them, cheering as the follow the company towards the docs. These people will be running for their lives in a matter of hours and they don’t even know it.

Wait till the Dwarves have reached the mountain, warn Bard, prepare the arrow, tell the town at exactly the right moment to both minimise casualties but keep Smaug in range of the arrow.

A hand smacks her fingers away from her legs. “Stop it,” Kili chides. “You’re going to leave bruises.” Gailien sucks her cheeks, not bothering to retort.

“You do realise we’re one short,” Bilbo says as the near the barge. “Where’s Bofur?”

“If he’s not here, we leave him behind,” Thorin declares. At least she will not be alone.

“We’ll have to if we’re to find the door in time,” Balin adds. “It’ll take us two days to travel, and we can only hope that the moon isn’t covered by clouds.”

“Don’t even begin to bring that possibility up,” Thorin growls. Gailien trots up faster next to his side.

“It won’t be,” she assures. “I’ve seen the moonlight reveal the hole. As long as you are there from the moment it rises, then you’ll find it.”

Thorin smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. She doesn’t comment, knowing exactly what kind of stress he is under at this very moment. The crowd around them watches as the Dwarves begin loading themselves onto the barge. Gailien stands next to Thorin, knowing that she has run out of other opportunities to tell him her plan. Well, part of her plan – and that’s what is making this so difficult.

Her mouth begins to open, her jaw jutting out slightly as she tries to force the words out. But Thorin has not yet taken notice of her stance, instead focusing on his youngest nephew. Kili almost passes him, following his older brother onto the boat when Thorin’s arm extends out in front of him.

“Not you,” Thorin says. “We must travel at speed; you will slow us down.”

Kili’s face slowly morphs into confusion and shock. Fili notices his brother’s absence on the boat. “What are you talking about? I’m coming with you.”

Gailien’s thoughts about herself end as she registers the conversation happening in front of her. She steps forward, between the uncle and nephew. “Thorin, Kili is fine. He won’t slow you down.”

Thorin sighs, shaking his head. “He is injured. He can join us when he is healed.”

“He is healed,” Gailien counters. “I’ve tended to him myself. And not only that but I’ve seen him at the entrance with you. He will not hinder you, so don’t take this away from him.” It is a lie. A huge fat lie that is a small seed in the flowering guilt that already runs through her veins. She never saw him in her vision of them at the mountain, but that is also with the line of future where he did not confess about his wound hurting so much. She has changed that course.

Thorin looks between Kili and Gailien. Fili stands to the side, watching the exchange silently. Eventually, Thorin resigns with a short nod. “Go ahead,” he says to Kili. The young prince grins, squeezing Gailien’s shoulder in thanks as he passes her to go to the barge with his brother. Thorin goes to move as well but Gailien catches his arm.

“Thorin.” She sighs, hating herself for this. “I’m not going with you.”

Thorin’s breath catches and his whole body shifts in discomfort. “What do you mean you’re not coming?”

“I’m not going to the mountain, at least not yet.”

“I...I-I don’t understand,” he stammers. His eyes don’t stay still, flickering in random directions as he seems to try and truly comprehend her words. “Did I do something wrong? Did someone ask you to? Are you being forced?”

Gailien shakes her head feverishly. “No, no, definitely not!” Taking another step forward, she cups his face, forcing him to look at her. “There is just…something I need to do; for the company but I need to be here to do it.”

Thorin’s hands rise to her wrists, grasping them in desperation as he searches her eyes. “Then why won’t you tell me,” he begs in a raspy tone.

Gailien tilts her shoulder back and forth. “It’s just one of those things that if I tell you then it could change. You trust me, just as I trust you. I will join you in less than a week’s time. Gerich veleth nin.”

Thorin squeezes his eyes shut and leans his head forward until their foreheads are touching. “I trust you. I don’t like it, but I trust you. Be safe, find Bofur, keep yourselves out of danger.”

“That’s the plan,” she mutters. “You be safe as well. Bilbo is terrified so don’t rush him. Don’t worry about Kili, he’s fine. And take care of yourself, alright?”

In answer, Thorin leans down, kissing her lips with force. With the prospect of death on the horizon, Gailien melts into it, knowing that if her plan does not work, then this may well be the last time she sees him. She is the one to pull away this time.

“I think you’re supposed to be in a rush,” she mutters, gesturing to the awaiting barge. Thorin nods reluctantly. He leaves her, marching over to the barge where the Dwarves are settling in for the day-long boat ride. Gailien takes a step back, balancing on the heels of her feet as she watches them prepare to leave.

Dwalin and Thorin untie them from the dock. She isn’t brave enough to tell the others, leaving that responsibility to Thorin. A week. Less than a week and she’ll be back with them, yet a week has never seemed so long. In over a year, she has not spent more than a few days away from them. The barge begins to move away from the side of the dock, the current slowly guiding them down. She watches as the begin to float away from her.

Fili is at the back of the barge, looking around for something but he doesn’t find it with him. His head snaps up and he locks eyes with the woman still standing on the edge. “Gailien?”

Bilbo, who is seated next to Fili also notices the lack of their woman’s presence. “Uh, Thorin,” he calls. “Why isn’t Gailien on the barge?”

Gailien hears the murmurs of the people of the town, wondering why she has not left with them, but she pays them no mind. Fili is the first to notice her absence and quickly, the news spreads as their heads turn to her. Her cheek is trapped between her teeth as Kili pushes to the back of the barge next to his brother, his head flicking between her and Thorin. Thorin comes up behind his nephews, saying something to them. Her name being called desperately reaches her ears softly. A few days.

“Oh, you missed the boat to then?”

Gailien’s head turns to her right where Bofur stands. His cheeks are red as he breathes heavily. “It seems I have,” she answers, not wanting to explain just yet. Less than a week. If she survives that is – they are going against a dragon after all.


	51. Chapter 27

Chapter 27: The Black Arrow

Gailien and Bofur find refuge in an old shack. There are a few farm animals that come in through the night to share the shelter as well but if anything, they provided an extra warmth (even if they stink). Bofur has expressed an idea of taking another boat out to catch up and Gailien told him that if he wanted to, he should. She isn’t going to stop him from going to the mountain but told him that she must stay.

He does try to persuade her to come and eventually, Gailien knows that she has to explain to somebody before the both of them burst.

“Bofur,” she sighs. They are walking through a quiet part of the town, only a few people taking the backstreets as they are. Today is Durin’s day and tonight they would be entering the mountain.

“Lass,” he answers.

Gailien stops walking. Bofur takes a few more steps before realising. His eyebrows raise but he doesn’t make any sort of humorous comment as he may of. The glint in her eye tells him that it is not a time for jesting. “They’re going to awaken, Smaug, Bof,” she states simply. “They’re going to awaken him and he’s going to attack Lake-town.”

Bofur’s face contorts into a series of different expressions before he finally settles on his mouth hanging open. “I’m sorry…what? You mean you know they’re going to release the dragon and we’re still here?”

“I didn’t get left behind, I chose to stay,” she explains. “You remember the story about the Black Arrows?” Bofur nods feverishly. “Well there is one here somewhere, and my wager is that Bard knows. I don’t think there was ever a possibility that we weren’t going to awaken Smaug, but we have a chance to kill it. I’ve been trying to figure out exactly when I should go to Bard and I think I have to now.”

“Shouldn’t we tell the town?” Bofur asks as he follows Gailien who starts walking again.

“We need Smaug to be in range of the bow,” she argues. “Which means that he needs to be attacking the town. I hate it too, and I’m going to try and give them as much warning as possible, but we will be defenceless if he attacks us on the mainland.”

“Does Thorin know? Do any of them know?”

“No. I…I don’t think it would have done any good.”

“But are they going to survive? They’re going to be in the mountain!”

Gailien pauses walking for a moment, her face grave as she stares at Bofur. “I really don’t know,” she answers truthfully. “But we have to think about our own lives first.”

Xx

It is the mid-afternoon by the time they reach Bard’s home. Bofur stands behind her as Gailien rapidly knocks on the wood of their door. He has been pestering with questions that she really doesn’t know the answer to, but she tells him all she knows.

Gailien bounces her weight from foot to foot, her nerves really getting to her as the day goes on. The Dwarves are already likely at the mountain, waiting for the day to end.

After an agonising wait, the door finally opens. Bard’s already stern face deepens. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ve already told you; I don’t want anything more to do with you.” He begins to close the door but Gailien holds it open once more.

“You won’t have a choice in a few hours,” she states. “Something you don’t know about me is that I am a Seer, Bard. I can see glimpses into the future, and I think you’ll like to hear what I have to say.”

Bard’s eyes narrow at her in scrutiny but he realises that there is no reason for her to lie about that. And it would make sense to why she has come with the company. “Why do you need to tell me? Surely you would be more use to your friends.”

“I’m still helping them from here, but you know something that I don’t and have skills that are more finely tuned than my own.”

Bard thinks a little more, his teeth clicking together as he looks between the Dwarf and woman. Huffing, he opens the door further. “Come in then,” he grunts.

“Actually,” Gailien hesitates. “I don’t think this is a conversation that you would like your children to overhear just yet.” This doesn’t do anything to settle the agitation in Bard’s bones, but he agrees, nonetheless and steps outside, closing the door behind him. Gailien rubs her hands together, breathing deeply. “Alright, this is going to be a long explanation so just wait till the end if you have any questions.”

“Alright,” Bard agrees.

“As I said, I’m a Seer. A Prophet if you will. And I have foreseen the dragon awakening – ah!” She cuts him off as his mouth begins to open. “We can’t stop the Dwarves. There are events happening around Middle Earth that even I don’t understand just of yet, but this dragon will do more than destroy a town on the lake if he is recruited by evil. In my vision, I saw a Black Arrow and you were holding it. I know that you know the whereabouts of one and we are going to need it. Smaug is going to attack tonight and we need to be prepared. We need Smaug in range so we can’t evacuate the town so we can’t warn them until the last minute unless we want to be completely defenceless. The stories are true, under his left-wing there is a missing scale – a weakness in his armour.”

Bofur nods once as Gailien finishes her speech. “Any questions?”

Bard’s mouth hangs open in shock. He looks past them to the mountain peak. “We need to kill that dragon,” he breathes.

Bofur looks to Gailien in shock. “He caught on a lot quicker than I was expecting.” Gailien nods quickly, a little surprised but not at the same time. Bard rushes back inside, leaving the two standing outside until he returns.

Inside, Bard grabs the Black Arrow that he has had hidden in his roof for as long as he can remember. Gailien and Bofur enter as Bard inspects the arrow, the dust slowly falling down from the wood.

“Da? That’s a Black Arrow! Why’d you never tell me?” Bain asks.

“Because you did not need to know,” his father answers.

“Da, what’s happening?” Sigrid questions, her hands pulling Tilda close. “Why do you need that?”

“Bofur can stay with them,” Gailien offers as Bard is silent for a moment. How are you supposed to tell your children that they are going to be facing a dragon? Bard glances at Bofur sceptically but nods, nonetheless. Bofur nods also, stepping forward.

“I’ll take care of them, by my life,” he swears.

“Are we going to die?” Tilda gasps.

“No, darling,” Bard coos to his youngest. “I need you all to stay together and keep safe.”

Bain’s brows scrunch together, and he steps closer to his father. “But what’s happening? Does it have to do with the mountain? With the dragon?”

Gailien watches quietly as Bard debates with himself. She wouldn’t want to tell them yet – actually, she would. She wants them to get as far away from here as possible but Smaug would just follow them wherever they went.

“Yes, Bain,” Bard answers gravely. “Stay with your sisters and Bofur.”

“And what are you going to do?!”

Bard looks at the large obsidian arrow in his hands, the sense of duty washing over him like a tidal wave. “I’m going to do what our ancestors could not. I’m going to kill that dragon.”

All present know that there is no time to waste and Gailien rushes forward, hugging Bofur tightly. “Stay safe. When the dragon gets here, get the children out. I’ll be with Bard.”

Bofur smiles sadly. “You too, lass. Don’t make me be the one to deliver terrible news to the others.”

“I have every intention of staying alive.”

With a final nod to each other, Bofur and Gailien parts way, the woman joining Bard’s side and Bofur turns to the children, doing his best to keep them calm. Gailien and Bard march outside, her feet having to take very quick steps to keep in pace with his much longer legs.

“We need to get to the Wind-lance,” she speaks aloud. She knows he is probably on the exact same track of thought, but she can’t help but make sure. There is no room for mistakes, they only have a few hours until sundown then there is no telling how long Smaug will be in the mountain for until he leaves.

“That’s the plan,” Bard grunts. His eyes dart around the town. Gailien notes his jittery nature and glances around herself but she doesn’t find anything to cause such nerves. Both hate not being able to warn the clueless people who are still going about their daily lives, but Bard knows the truth behind her words. They need Smaug in range and they cannot do that if they escape. It would be pointless. “You said something about an evil growing.”

“Yes,” she says between heavy breathes as they march through the maze of streets. “I don’t know exactly what, but it has something to do with Mordor and the Ring of Power.”

“That hasn’t been seen in many years from I’ve heard.”

“I don’t doubt someone has it,” she says absent-mindedly. “Or it is somewhere easily found. But unless you have something other than human blood, you won’t be alive for its events.”

“No, but my children or theirs may be.” 

“It’s going to affect the entirety of Middle Earth, Bard. Everybody’s children will be. There’s no escaping it.”

They continue storming through the town. Even though she knows they have plenty of time, her ears constantly strain to hear anything that might hint to Smaug’s awakening. But they won’t even be in the Mountain yet. Her head is turned to the side, looking through an alleyway when Bard’s stiff-arm extends out in front of her. Her pace stumbles as Bard ushers her into the alleyway she was just looking down.

“Braga,” he explains.

“I don’t think he likes you,” Gailien muses as she peeks out around the edge. Sure enough, Braga and his men are patrolling through the town along the path that they need to go down.

“That’s an understatement,” Bard mutters. “He’s going to think I’m up to something if he sees me with this.”

“We’re going to have to sneak around then,” Gailien notes, leaning back into the alleyway. “Do you know of a better way?”

Bard looks at the arrow then to Gailien. Her eyes widen as he thrusts the large arrow into her arms. “You’ll be sneaking.” Gailien blinks rapidly, holding the arrow close to her chest to manage its weight. “I’m going to start a goose-chase. Take it to the tower, I’ll meet you there.”

“What?” Gailien hisses but Bard doesn’t answer, and he walks back out of the alleyway with faux confidence. Or maybe it is real confidence – she’ll never know. Holding herself tight against the corner, she watches as Bard casually walks down the road, nearing Braga and his men.

Braga and his men turn their attention to Bard. Her breathing almost stops as they talk, the words not reaching even her ears, but she can see Bard’s feet shift slightly. One moment he is standing there, and then he is sprinting. Braga cries out, ordering his men to follow Bard who leads them away from Gailien’s path.

She checks down the road for any other guards but there are none. Quietly she moves out of her hiding spot. The Black Arrow is almost twice as long as she is, the metal a heavy weight against her small frame. It is cold against her hands and she has to move it around a few times to keep it from dragging along the ground. Maybe it would have been better is she provided the distraction.

Her head constantly snaps over her shoulder as she runs, her breath fogging in front of her as her body warms from the movement. The tower is well in sight now, only a few more blocks of buildings standing in her way. There is no telling what has happened to Bard but she hopes that he will meet her as she said. They only have one shot and there is no way she could take it.

Her ears hear the sound of guard’s orders being yelled from behind her. She turns around, falling back to a fast walk as she slowly tries to fall back into the shadows. But the guards do not come for her from behind.

Gailien slowly turns back around just as at the end of her road, another section of the Master’s guards turns down her road. “There she is!”

Gailien curses loudly. With her secrecy gone Gailien moves back into the middle of the road where she has the most room for the arrow in her arms. She begins sprinting back the way she came. She rounds the corner but there are more men waiting for her. Her feet skid across the ground and she starts sprinting back the original way.

There has to be some sort of way out. Maybe she could use the boats and cross the lake to her right. But the arrow is going to weigh her down even more. And she will not outrun them with speed alone.

The two sections of guards close in on her from bother directions and she is forced to stop in the middle. A heavy force knocks into her side and Gailien is knocked to the ground. The arrow rolls out of her arms along the road. Her arms stretch out, clawing to it as her stomach scraps against the ground. But the arrows doesn’t stop rolling. It rolls and rolls until one end suddenly tips upwards and it slides down, sinking into the water.

“No.”

Another heavy force hit her again, this time sharper and direct. A sword hilt smashes against the back of her head, jutting it forward and the front of her head smacks against the ground, knocking her out completely.

Xx

A heavy, unladylike groan vibrates through her throat. Her head pounds, every heartbeat causing a new string of blood to push against her skull. Her eyes squint open with the expectation of being met with bright light but instead, they are met with a roof.

The pounding doesn’t go away but Gailien pushes herself up, slowly looking around. She is in a small room, three thick walls of wood, and one of metal bars. She’s been thrown in a cell. But that isn’t what scares her the most.

No. What terrifies her is that there is one window on the outer wall, and instead of sunlight streaming through, the moon has replaced it. And the Black Arrow is at the bottom of the lake. Her hands grip the bars on the window, looking out into the town. But there is no fire, no screaming. The dragon has not yet been woken.

A deeper groan comes from behind her and Gailien moves away from the window towards the man on the floor. Bard’s eyes slowly peel open, not feeling any better than the woman who stands over him. “Where’s the Arrow?” he croaks.

“It won’t be found by them,” she answers. She holds her hand out with a blank face, and Bard takes it and pulls himself to his feet. “Do you know how to get out of these cells?”

“I’ve never been in them before.”

Gailien eyes the size of the bars with doubt, but there is no harm in trying. Bard watches as she turns her body to the side, poking her shoulder through. But that is as far as she gets. She may be of thinner frame, but not so much as to slip through them. “Worth a shot,” she mutters, silently cursing the extra helpings she had this past week. She looks down at herself – if only she had been born a male…

Then they hear it. The first sound that the dragon has made in sixty years, for all of Lake-town to hear. “Curse those Dwarves!” Bard cries. He kicks at the metal bars, but it does nothing. “Let us out of here!”

For two whole hours the two kick, scream, threaten and plan their way out of the cell. But the guards in the room nearby pay them no heed, no matter the warnings she sends them. And there is no escaping through the window unless they find a heavy weight to pull the entire thing away.

The dragon is coming, and there is no stopping it and they will certainly perish if they do not find a way out of this forsaken cell. Gailien presses her face against the window bars, looking out at the mountain. She cannot see or even hear anything but there is no doubt about the activity going on inside it.

Then a flash of blonde hair shows in the corner of her vision. “Legolas?” Gailien whispers, then realises that her sight does not betray her. “Legolas!” She strains her voice to be heard but it is done so with success. Legolas’ head snaps towards her and his graceful sprint across the town halts. She breathes hard as he stands there for a moment.

Legolas looks to the orcs that he is chasing, then back to Gailien’s face behind the metal bars. He is no fool, he heard the dragon’s cry. His feet point either way, not yet with a decision made but his guilt wins out. With a grunt of frustration, his direction changes and he runs towards the building that Gailien is being held in.

Gailien can hardly believe it. She watches him until he disappears underneath the cell which seems to be overhanging the water. Her feet swivel and she runs to the front cell door. “Who were you calling to?” Bard questions.

“Hopefully someone that can get us out of here,” she answers. Her heart thuds against her chest, her head moving back and forth slightly as she waits for any sign of her old friend. There is nothing for a good minute of so but then she hears his voice.

“You will let your prisoner go, by order of the Prince of Mirkwood.”

“Prince of Mirkwood?” One of the guards huff. “We take our orders from the Master, blondie.”

Gailien pokes her face through as much as she can to see into the other room but they have partially closed the door and she can only see three of the guards standing there. Bard soon joins her. One of them is pulled forward and she can hear the sound of a quick scuffle. The two remaining guards jump back, there hands rising in surrender.

“I would like the keys, if you will.”

The guards don’t say anything more, but one reaches down to their waist, pulling the ring of keys off and holds them out. They are snatched out of his hands and Gailien’s smile grows as Legolas kicks the door open. He scans the keys, pulling one out in particular and shoves it into the lock. There is a satisfying click and the prince pulls the door open.

Gailien runs out first, engulfing him in a tight hug. “Thank you.”

Legolas swallows, not one for physical affection but slowly his arms wind around her shoulders. “You could escape Mirkwood’s cells but not these?” he taunts. Bard and Legolas share a stiff glance at one another. Gailien scoffs, pulling her arms back.

“Yes, you should work on your security.” She shakes her head. “We don’t have time for this. But I’m sorry, for leaving and for how we met again. I don’t wish to be anything other than your friend.”

“Then it seems we have the same intentions,” Legolas answers. “You should leave, the Dwarves have awoken Smaug.”

Not wanting to argue, especially at a time like this, Gailien nods, sending Bard a quick glance. “We are. And thanks to you we can. Once again, I owe you my life,” she says with complete truth. “What are you even doing in Esgorath?”

“Chasing that Orc party that has been on your tail.”

“I would thank you, but I don’t think you’re doing it for my benefit,” she snorts. 

“It is more than for you, than you think. And I hope to see you again after this, mellon.” He gives her an Elvish farewell, nodding once to Bard before he sprints off just as fast as he came – he still has orcs to catch up to after all.

Gailien turns around to Bard. “I know where the arrow is, I’ll meet you at the Wind-lance.”

They run outside, straight past the guards who don’t bother trying to apprehend them. Bard takes his own path, already knowing his destination but Gailien is facing a lack of orientation. She takes the right, having a somewhat idea of the town’s layout. If she is right, then the place she was captured should only be about ten blocks away.

Her arms pump against her side as she runs, her head aching with each step. The people are still going about their day, carrying their groceries, gossiping. Though they had a little stint in their plan, things look like they might just turn out alright. As long as she can find this arrow.

But as she runs, the people around her begin to talk loudly, pointing up to the sky. Gailien spares those people a few glances as she runs but after it happens the fifth time, she turns around to see what just has their attention.

Her stomach drops and dread trickles through her – teasing her with how slow and agonising it is. In the night sky, there is a large shape gliding towards the town. Its chest glows orange. This is her first-ever time seeing such a beast and she will be glad to never again. The people begin to scream as they realise. 

Gailien turns back around, her feet slapping the ground harder than they ever have before. People run around her, screaming and crying but she cannot waste energy on trying to understand them.

Because the only thing able to put an end to this, is sitting somewhere below meters of freezing water, and she is the only person that can find it.


End file.
